One Hundred Tiny Missions
by SageQuill
Summary: Tseng's desire to escape from lunch with Palmer leads to a humorous series of missions for his fellow Turks. New mission posted! Genesis grit his teeth and resisted the urge to Firaga the entire building.
1. Mission 1 Operation Obtain the List

**Hi there folks! This is my second project formed out of boredom, one too many cups of tea, and a writing Muse who finally found the will and inspiration to update after two-three years of silence. Enjoy the humorous side of life with Tseng and his Turks as they 'professionally' tackle every mission under the sun and then some. If you have a suggestion for a mission you would like to see, feel free to suggest it. ;) Thanks for reading.**

**Once again, I do not own anything but the pansies on Reeve's desk, and even that is sketchy. :) Enjoy and remember to read and review when you get the chance.**

**Mission One - Operation Obtain the List**

In exactly nine minutes and 18 seconds, the world was going to end.

Tseng stirred the sugar in his cup of coffee and glanced over the agenda for the day. Another day, another meeting with Palmer, Scarlet, and Heidegger. He shuddered at the thought of sitting in the odd smelling board room, fifth chair to the left, and having it out with those three over something as stupid as who has the cooler uniform or how his name was spelled. It was Tseng, with a "T" not an "S," as Palmer had claimed and insisted, despite the fact that his name was emblazed upon the little folded piece of cardboard bearing his name right in front of him at that very moment.

The tiny silver spoon clinked against the coffee mug's rim. It was a miracle anything got done at all at those pointless meetings. He sighed. Palmer was slated to speak about the status of the space program and Mr. Highwind's progress in training.

The last time such a topic was attempted, at exactly four thirty yesterday afternoon, it had ended with him drawing his weapon and shooting the lard-crusted tea cup with the dancing chocobos on it right out of the incompetent man's greasy hands, landing most of the liquid, if it could have been called that, on Scarlet's silk dress. And now his subordinates were going to pay the hellish price for his mistake.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes until the board meeting was to begin. Plenty of time to attempt to finish the sudoku puzzle hidden beneath the latest mission briefing. All he needed to place was two nines, an eight, and a one and he would be king of the cubicle, until the next puzzle arrived in his inbox and Reeve began the cycle again. The pen tip touched to fill on one of the numbers he was certain of.

A gust of wind blazed through the doorway, red hair askew and jacket unbuttoned. A tattered piece of crumpled paper with what looked like nacho cheese fingerprints coating the edges fell across the sudoku puzzle.

Tseng scowled and rubbed the red dot upon his forehead to quell a brewing headache. "You are supposed to be on assignment with Cissnei and Rude."

The red haired Turk sat in the plush chair and propped his muddy boots up upon the varnished mahogany surface, crossing his hands behind his head in a casual manner. Tseng raised an eyebrow. He had not sent Reno anywhere near where any mud might be found.

"Meh. We finished early."

"You were supposed to interrogate that AVALANCHE operative we captured. I just gave you that assignment less than fifteen minutes ago."

"Piece of cake," he smirked. "We just showed him the office Christmas party footage of Heidegger and Palmer reenacting the Nutbuster in their skin tight tutus and he spilled everything. Poor sap's gonna need some therapy, but he'll eventually crawl out from behind the file cabinets."

Tseng could only stare in horror, the fountain pen quivering in his hand. "When I said interrogate, I did not mean torture. Just how much therapy are we talking about?"

"Best case scenario, he stops rocking back and forth chanting about serving the great god of the cupcakes and gives Rude his sunglasses back."

"Where's Rude?"

"Helping Cissnei move a filing cabinet."

"Why are you even in my office then?"

"You're the one who said we have to file a report for everything we do now."

"This isn't a mission report," he held the piece of paper up with the tip of the fountain pen in disgust. "It's a menu from Don's Cheeky Fries and Thighs."

The red head smirked. "I thought you might like something to order from for lunch with the Lord of the Lard this afternoon after the meeting."

Tseng paled and rifled through his drawer for the little black book that commanded his day. Surely he had not forgotten to check what was scheduled for lunchtime. There it was, in his own writing, _12:30 - Lunch with Palmer. _

Reno sniggered at the motion. Tseng. Oh great and emotionless Tseng of the Turks. Reduced to a cowering shell of a man by one simple phrase. How he wished he had a camera at this very moment.

"Damn it." He began to ponder his options, watching the hands on his watch creep closer to the board meeting. He could call in dead. No, too suspicious and too messy to pull off in less than six minutes. Or claim that a family member had an emergency.

No, Turks didn't have families to manipulate into being scapegoats. He mentally swore and stared at the sudoku puzzle and the menu, only to realize that he had misplaced one of the numbers and needed to start from scratch once again. Unless he wished to sit across from Palmer at the local fast food joint and suffer through watching the man pour lard into his beverage, he would need something spectacular. It was a pity Hojo was out of town for the weekend for a 'study' involving women, the beach, and sun tan lotion.

If he couldn't call in dead, maimed, or terminally ill with the Gongagan plague, he would have to settle for the next best thing - a mission so intense that it would threaten Shinra's very core should the Turks not be dispatched immediately to deal with it. He tapped his fingers against the desk. But what to use this time? They had already been on runs to the local grocery store for every item under the Wutainese sun at least four times, and one could only suffer through clothes shopping with Rufus for about an hour without drawing their weapons on the president's boy or trying to drown themselves in the mall fountain.

Where was AVALANCHE when he needed them. He grumbled under his breath at his last option and picked up the phone.

"Who ya callin' boss?"

"That information is privileged."

Reno winked. "Booking a room at the Honeybee Inn?"

"Don't you have a filing cabinet to move?"

Reno leaned back on the chair and peered through the doorway. A horrific crash, followed by the cursing and swearing of a male and female, filled the corridor as a phone rang somewhere in the corner office. "Nope, I think they got it covered."

Tseng sighed and waited for someone to answer.

_"Hello?"_ The man on the other line seemed a bit frantic about something.

"Reeve. I have a favor to ask."

"What do you need, Tseng?"

The leader of the Turks pointed to the doorway. "Out, Reno."

"Aw, but can't I listen to the juicy details?"

_"Tseng?"_

"Hold on a second, Reeve." A second crash deafened the corridor and a piece of paper fluttered by the door. Just what in the hell were they doing over there? Trying to strangle a loose chocobo?

Reno's eyes widened in shock and Tseng realized his mistake. Before he could prevent it, Reno was running from the office with that impish twinkle in his eyes.

"Hey guys!"

The frustrated growls of two very irritated Turks could be heard in the background, along with Reeve's awkward shout of protest as a small Cait Sith plushie flew by the door.

_"Tseng! Your subordinates-"_ Static infringed upon the line.

"Say their safety words."

"What safety words?"

The crackle of Reno's EMR could be heard even from his desk. Tseng reached for his coffee and thought better of it. Reeve had brought up a good point. Just what were his three subordinates safety words again?

_"Please, Tseng!"_It sounded as though Reeve was hiding under his desk, the sound of a shuriken whisking by the crackle of electricity. _"Get them out of my office. I'll do anything you want!"_

Anything? Tseng allowed a rare smirk. "I believe you were given a list of urgent missions or me and my group last night?"

_"Yes, yes. I put it in your 'In' box under the stick figure drawing of Rufus in a bikini! Just get them the hell out of here before-"_

The sound of a scuffle and the upturning of a desk.

"Reeve? Are you still alive?"

_"For the love of Holy, Tseng! They got the pansies!"_

Tseng smacked a palm against his forehead and sighed. "I'm going to be late for my meeting, Reeve."

_"I'll go to your damn meeting for you! Just get these three the hell out of my office!"_

Tseng stepped over to the open door, PHS in hand. From what he could see, Reno was standing over something that looked suspiciously like a bunch of colorful flowers, EMR ready to attack.

"The three of you," he shouted. "My office. Now."

"What about the guy living behind the file cabinets?" Reeve inquired in timid surrender.

"Just make sure to feed the poor lad and put a saucer of water down for him every couple of hours until you gain his trust enough to release him back into the wild."

He fished through the endless pile of paperwork in his 'In' box until he found what he was looking for. Hanging up the phone and listening to the protesting quarreling of his subordinates, he broke the wax seal and looked at the first mission.

Tseng could already sense the presence of his first gray hair.

**----**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Mission: **

**"Just call me, the mailman." - Reno**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	2. Mission 2 Operation Mailbox

**I present to you the second mission in which a simple, mundane task becomes everyone's worst nightmare. Enjoy. :) **

**Mission Two - Operation Mailbox**

It was a simple cut and dry mission that insulted his intelligence. He was the highest ranking Turk in the business and now he was being asked to assign a mission so simple, even an infantry man could do it. The Gongagan plague was looking pretty good right about now.

He turned to his three subordinates and held a small manila envelope before him.

"Gentlemen," he looked towards Reno. "And lady. Your first mission of the day involves this envelop and the address on it."

Rude grasped the red haired Turk by the scruff of his jacket to restrain him from tackling Tseng for the comment as Cissnei retrieved the envelop and studied the address.

"Sir, is this some sort of cruel joke?"

"I wish it was. But no, that letter is now under full bodyguard protection until it is placed in the mailbox."

Reno snared the envelop from the shorter Turk's hands, earning a jab to the ribs. "So let me get this straight. You want us, the elite of the elite, the most fearful of the fearful, cloak and dagger assassins, to put a letter in a mailbox?"

"That is exactly what I want you to do."

Reno broke into laughter and almost crumbled the letter in his fist by accident. "You got it, boss. Just call me the mailman."

"Good. Now get out of my office."

**Some time later, Shinra Postal Floor...**

_Mailbox 35 P. _

Cissnei read the golden letters of each of the three hundred, unalphabetized and unnumerically arranged boxes in frustration. It was no wonder Shinra never got anything done. By the time one located their mail for mission orders, the mission was more than halfway over. Something told her that they were nowhere close.

"I think I might have found it." Rude peered towards a small box tucked in the bottom corner.

She jumped down ladder and read the letters upon the mailbox.

_35 P._

"Just put the damn letter in already and let's go," Reno shoved the envelop halfway into the slot and turned to leave, his untucked shirt and unbuttoned jacket fluttering in the wind his stride created. Rude nodded, but was hesitant to follow, as though having second thoughts about leaving the envelop behind.

The elevator chimed at the end of the hall, signaling the end of the mission and Reno strode in with a cocky grin.

"You gonna take the stairs or what yo?" Both Turks hurried to join him in the elevator as the older gentleman who collected and delivered the mail emerged from the stairwell, burlap mail bag slung over his shoulder. He whistled a frightening little tune and reached for the envelop as the elevator door began to close.

"Wait," Cissnei reread the sigh outside of the elevator. "Reno you moron, that was not the right mailbox!"

"What do ya mean babe? Of course it was."

Rude adjusted his sunglasses for a better look, the mailman retreating for the stairs that would lead to Sector Eight. They had placed it in an outbound mailbox going to the privates of military stationed in Wutai, instead of the one going to the president.

"Don't ever call me that again."

"Cissnei!" The bald man pointed to the retreating older gentleman. "Stop that mailman!"

"I'm on it."

She threw the shuriken at the man's lower legs, the shrill whistle alone alerting the man to the threat. With a cry of surprise, his legs became tangled in the weapon's spin, throwing him hard upon the ground.

"Nice." Reno activated the EMR and bolted for the unfortunate mailman, who's eyes narrowed in determination. With a shove, the bag of mail fell from the stairs, sending letters surging into the air as it bounded towards the second man waiting below.

"Run, Floyde! Run! Leave me! The Mail must be delivered on time!" The gentleman watched his comrade gather the scattered mail and take a flying leap for the idling pickup truck bearing the Shinra logo along its side. Smoke filled the air, the man known as Floyde flooring the gas pedal.

"Stop that mail truck!"

Rude barreled down the steps after Cissnei and Reno, into the streets, and towards the highway leading to Sector Five. They would never catch the truck like this. And then he spotted it - their salvation on two wheels.

"We need to borrow this for a moment!"

"Hey!" Zack reached for the metal flower wagon handle but Reno zapped him with the EMR and climbed into the wagon amongst the daffodils and tulips. He offered a hand to Cissnei as Rude began pushing the wagon to get it started. The cart flared to life with the sparks raining from the tip of the EMR and it lunged down the hill towards the highway, the three Turks balanced precariously within.

"My wagon!"

"My new Shinra Weapon!" the scientist cried.

"Oh yeah! Now this is how to travel!" Reno gave a whoop and placed both hands on Cissnei's shoulders, standing up to watch the truck up ahead. "Ladies and gentlemen! Please keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times! Here we GO!"

The wagon rumbled down the hill, picking up speed as Rude fought to keep it balanced.

Floyde paled and looked out the window, not believing his eyes. Were those three Turks in a flower wagon doing ninety on a downhill highway? Judging from the curious looks of those along the road, they were. He reached for something in the mail sack. No one stood in the way of the Shinra Postal Office. Not even the Turks.

"Reno! Projectile at two o'clock."

"I never knew you wanted me that way." He smirked and felt an elbow connect with his ribs. A split second later, an unidentified object smacked him in the forehead. He raised the EMR high above his head with a shout. "Damn mail rental DVDs."

A second assortment of packages came crashing towards the flower wagon.

"Look out! Wall Market Greeting Cards!" Cissnei countered the ninja-like letters with the shuriken as Reno swatted at a renegade coupon book that had attached itself to his shoulder and continued to bat him in the face.

"Porn!" Rude cried out in horror as the magazine depicting Scarlet of all people on its cover covered his field of vision. The wagon veered sharply to the left.

"Cissnei! Use Libra." Reno begged as a second coupon book joined the first. "Find a weakness! Any weakness!"

She cast the spell. "His brown shorts and polo shirt make him immune to all physical and magical attacks, status effects, dogs, small elderly people, and children."

A book of freshly licked stamps formed a cloud along the air. Rude paled, having just now managed to get the disturbing magazine out of his eyes. Two stickers of hummingbirds and sunshines covered his sunglass lenses. The wagon teetered onto its left wheel.

"Oh F-" A brilliant explosion cut off whatever the auburn haired female Turk was about to say, startling even Reno. He had never known her to use that word before.

"Damn-" Reno picked himself off of Cissnei and Rude with a groan, a sad looking tulip draped between his eyes. The wagon smoldered around them, its remaining wheel still spinning in the breeze. Sirens blazed in the distance. "That was fun."

The female Turk brushed the dust from her blazer and winced. "I just got that Phoenix down too…"

"Man, and I thought Sephiroth was kidding when he claimed that his sole defeat was by a guy in brown shorts and a polo shirt when he tried to access his mail account on another continent." Reno leaned against the wagon as Rude began to stir.

Cissnei picked up her scorched PHS and dialed the familiar number.

"Sir," the auburn haired Turk reported. "We're going to be a little late getting back. Meet us at the hospital."

**Shinra Headquarters, unknown time...**

Rufus blinked at the three hundred and seven different post marks and messages decorating the envelop. Who knew that a letter from ten feet down the hall had to travel the whole way to Modeoheim and back before it arrived in the mailbox outside of his office? No wonder the price of stamps were so high as of late.

**---**

**Coming up next on One Hundred Tiny Missions**

**"The Happy Turtle."**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :) **


	3. Mission 3 Operation Happy Turtle

**Thanks to those who have reviewed so far. And for the suggestions for future missions. Tseng can hardly wait to send them out on them. :) Without further ado, Commencing Mission Three right now.**

**Mission Three - Operation Happy Turtle**

Tseng could only stare at the three Turks lying side by side in the hospital beds, wondering just how in the hell something so simple could have landed them in intensive care. He had heard whispers amongst the higher ups and emergency services regarding what happened, but he felt compelled to visit in person for the full story.

"This should be the most interesting story I've heard all day." He tapped his foot against the linoleum floor and crossed his arms across his chest to survey the damage. "Who wants to start."

Cissnei glanced up from the novel she had been attempting to turn the page of, her left arm in a sling, and pointed to Reno. "It's his fault."

Reno sat up, the bandage around his head covering one eye. "How was I supposed to know the damn thing would take off like that?"

"Both of you - shut up," Tseng rubbed the dot on his forehead. "Rude. Oh sane and sagely Rude. Please tell me that this is a nightmare and that you all really did not try to assassinate a mailman and then rig a flower cart to go ninety miles per hour down the highway, only to shut down the whole thing for four hours and back traffic up the whole way to Sector Two."

"Hmmm." Was all the man was willing to say, the proof still on his glasses.

The older Turk sighed in defeat and turned to leave, his PHS ringing. "Tseng here."

"Tseng, Mr. Fair is here to see you. Something about a flower cart."

"Oh bloody hell." He hung up and turned back to his subordinates. "When the three of you get out of here, I want you back in my office for your next mission, which will be impossible for you all to fail."

He swore that they were going to send him to an early grave.

Three days later the group hobbled into his office, ready for their next mission. It was foolproof. So simple that Palmer could do it. Tseng paused his thoughts for a moment. They had slightly less than a snowball's chance in hell of failing it. He liked his odds.

"You want us to do what?" This time it was Rude who had spoken, balancing upon his crutches and handing the paper to Cissnei and Reno.

"It is a simple mission of responsibility. I think between the three of you, you will be able to manage this mission with minimal difficulty."

"Sir, with all do respect, you do realize who you're assigning to this mission right?" Cissnei handed the piece of paper back to Tseng with a scowl.

He nodded. "Even in your current states, you will have little difficulty with this little mission. It is only for four hours and you don't have to do anything other than show up."

"He said the same thing about that letter," Reno mumbled under his breath. Even Rude smiled at that.

"Dismissed."

**Presidential Suite, Four hours later…**

"What the hell is that thing?" Reno reached for his EMR, only to be restrained by Rude.

Cissnei knelt down and tapped on the aquarium glass. The tiny green reptile blinked stupidly. "It's a turtle, Reno."

"And Tseng made this a mission? Damn this is easy enough to do."

The female Turk retrieved a small piece of lettuce and offered it to the creature. A picture of a young Rufus proudly holding a blue ribbon and the turtle sat by the aquarium. "You're a happy turtle, aren't you?"

The reptile nibbled upon the piece of lettuce and took a lumbering step closer.

Reno rolled his eyes. "Great, leave me with the Turtle whisperer. Rude! Hey! Where are you going?"

"To get a drink." The door to the president's son's flat hissed shut, leaving both red heads to guard the turtle for the brief two hours they were required to.

"This sucks. Being body guards to a turtle of all things."

"It says here his name is Happy."

"I don't care what its name is. It's a damn dumb turtle and I would rather be drinking than sitting here."

"It's only two hours, Reno. You can handle that. Go watch a movie or something."

"Nah," he walked over to the aquarium and picked the creature up. "I'd rather play with Happy."

He cradled the turtle protectively against his jacket despite his comrade's protests. After all, he wasn't going to hurt the little bugger. Just hold him and maybe watch him crawl across the armrest of the couch. Cissnei was being way too overprotective of the reptile.

"Reno," she hissed, barely above a whisper. "Put that turtle down right now."

He stepped away from her and vaulted over the couch, cradling the turtle like a football.

"Happy likes me better anyway. Don't ya little guy?" A sting upon his fingers brought him back to reality, the turtle's teeth drawing blood. "Alright ya little chit. Now it's personal!"

"Reno! Put him down before you hurt him!"

The turtle fell from his grasp and landed with a soft bounce atop the plush carpet. Cissnei stared in horror and slapped Reno.

"Damn arrogant little chit. He bit me!"

"You deserved it. Now help me catch him before something happens to him."

Happy began to wander across the floor with enough speed to put the hare to shame, evading the Turk's best attempts at apprehending him with one arm.

Reno whistled with a smirk. "Yeah babe. That's the way to do this."

A second slap was his reward.

"Shut the hell up Reno and help me get him back into his aquarium before Rufus gets back."

By now, Happy had managed to scale a small pile of books and was making diligent progress towards the opening door in the distance where Rude appeared.

Everything happened at once.

Rude's crutch slipped in the doorway, knocking the turtle into the corridor like a hockey puck. Reno, seizing the opportunity to be the hero of the night, vaulted over Cissnei's shoulders as she scrambled to avoid being tackled by Rude, knocking her into a bookshelf and landing in the hallway like a cat chasing its prey. He was, after all, a Turk on a mission. Even if it was to apprehend an escaped turtle.

"Reno! Wait!"

Unfortunately, he heard too late, the toe of his boot accidentally catching the underside of the turtle and the linoleum acting as a frictionless launch pad for his foot.

Happy flew through the window like a baseball, shattering the glass and plummeting three stories down. Reno rubbed his lower back with a wince as Cissnei raced by in time to watch the unfortunate reptile land with a splash into the boiling pot of soup en route to the dignitary dinner for which Rufus was to be in attendance.

Reno whistled. "I couldn't do that again if I tried."

Cissnei, pale as a sheet, retrieved her PHS and dialed Tseng.

"Sir," she cowered, ready for him to yell. "We have a situation here."

---

**Coming up next time on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**There's something lurking in the sewers...and it's not happy... (Thanks Not Jack Frost for the idea.)**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :) **


	4. Mission 4 Operation Sewer Search

**Heh heh heh. Poor Zack and Tseng. Thanks to everyone who's been reading once again. Love it? Hate it? Let me know. Until then, enjoy. :)**

**Mission Four - Operation Sewer Search**

"First you blow up a flower wagon, and then you end up cooking Rufus's prized pet turtle!"

It was official, Tseng had officially reached level three on the pissyness scale. Reno made a note to document it for future reference. Level one usually consisted of him drinking an extra cup of coffee. Level two was the infamous Tseng rubbing of the forehead. But level three…Now _that _was uncharted territory. Growling and grumbling usually reached a certain point, but all out yelling was something new, and given the shocked and embarrassed looks on both of his comrades faces - there was going to be a lot more of it. It was kinda cool in a weird sort of way.

"I don't see what the big deal is." Both Rude and Cissnei glared at him. "He can buy a new one."

"You _punted _a million dollar turtle through a plexiglas _window_."

"And, I _said _I was _sorry_."

"And you had the nerve to complain that the soup was bland!"

"It wasn't a tasty turtle. Needed salt."

Tseng was seething now and for a moment, looked as though he was going to throw the coffee mug on his desk at Cissnei for some reason. "Why didn't you stop him?"

She chose to remain silent.

Reno smirked. "I believe the real culprit is Rude. He thought Happy was a hockey puck."

The bald man opened his mouth to protest. "And you used him as a football!"

"He turned into a baseball and then a basketball. I mean, did you SEE that shot I made!" the red head gave a whoop of excitement and draped an arm over Tseng's shoulder playfully. "Easily ten points!"

"I heard rumors. None of the pleasant. Stop touching me."

"You're no fun."

"I'm not supposed to be." He swiped a piece of paper from his desk and began to read it. "Thanks to the three of you's antics, I intend to be even more unpleasant than usual. Now, since you can't even take care of a simple turtle for two hours, and seem to have developed a disturbing taste for killing small animals for fun, I'm sending you on a top secret mission."

Reno smirked. "Do we get to kill things?"

"You get to be as destructive as you-" Tseng paused, as though thinking he might have said the wrong thing. "Stay within the allowance of our insurance policy. Here are the specifics."

Reno whistled at the mission and handed it to Rude, who raised an eyebrow.

Cissnei paled. "Please tell me you're kidding Sir."

"Is something wrong, She Who Speaks The Whisper of Death to Turtles?"

"I did not kill Happy!"

"Yeah," Reno pointed. "She just convinced him to end his own life by walking into the hallway. I did the killing."

"Just get the hell out of my office before I decide to assassinate all three of you!" When they scampered away for their latest mission, he pulled out his PHS and dialed.

_"What now, Tseng?"_

"Reeve, I need another favor."

_"Good god man, now what."_

"I need you to contact someone for me."

**_A short time later….._**

Reno wrinkled his nose in disgust, the murky water soaking his pant legs. "What makes Rude so privileged to get out of this."

"He broke his leg," Cissnei ducked beneath an overhanging pipe and shined the flashlight further along the arched corridor. "And couldn't fit down the hole."

"Lucky bastard."

"Language, Reno."

"Well, I guess I'll have to make the most of this then." He draped an arm over her shoulder. "Looks like we're finally alone."

The shuriken was at his throat before he could move. How she managed to hold both weapon and flashlight with the same hand puzzled him. "Sorry, Reno, but you'll have to do better than the sewers to date me."

"Aw, come on. You're no fun." A flicker atop the water in the distance. "Hey, look. I think we found our little culprit."

Cissnei froze, flashlight trembling in her grasp. It did not go unnoticed to the taller Turk.

"Heh, you look a little pale there yo," he followed the flashlight beam's light and smirked. "Afraid of snakes?"

"N-no. I-I'm not afraid of them."

"Liar liar. Come on, it's not like its going to be venomous or anything. It's just a baby after all." She was not convinced. "Fine, if you insist, I'll check it out."

He splashed further ahead.

"Nah, just a thong. Ewww, and a jockstrap." He jumped away from the offending article of clothing, nearly tripping over an exposed pipe. "These guys are sick."

"Grow up, Reno."

"Cissnei," his voice became serious as he began to walk towards her. "Don't move."

She struggled to get a look behind her and caught sight of the towering shadow looming over her. With a scream, she bolted towards Reno, catching her foot against the murky floor and stumbling forward. Her flashlight vanished beneath the water, plunging the corridor into darkness.

"My precious!" the creature hissed, splashing into the water and cradling the discarded flashlight closer while striking out at the female Turk, who fought to regain her footing and fight back with her good arm.

"Reno! Help!"

He fumbled with the flashlight upon his belt and rushed to help his fallen comrade. A pair of fins emerged from the murky water to circle. Where was Rude when he needed him most. "Hang in there, Cissnei!"

The flashlight flared to life, catching the beast's disturbingly reflective eyes. Claws raking through the thick air, it reared back with a hiss, swinging the flashlight at the younger Turk closest to him. Reno snarled.

"You stay away from-" he slowed his pace. "What in the hell? Hojo?"

The beast hissed and retreated with the flashlight in his grasp, scrambling up the walls like a spider to vanish amongst the shadows.

Reno blinked stupidly. "_Okay_. I guess we finally know where he goes during the day then."

Cissnei regained her footing and attempted to brush the foul water from her uniform. "This is a waste of time, Reno."

"How in the hell did he get down here anyway?"

"Reno?"

"Huh? Sorry. I just was not expecting that." He took a step forward, his boot crunching over something brittle.

It arched out of the water, water sliding from its smooth, vibrant black scales. With a hiss, it expanded the flap of skin around its head to make it appear more threatening. A rattling sound filled the corridor.

"Holy-" The creature turned an evil eyes towards them, fangs glittering with venomous saliva.

"You said it was supposed to be a little baby!"

"Okay," he began running. "Maybe not so little!"

The flashlight died.

"Reno!" she tore after him, keeping the shuriken between herself and the 'baby' Midgar Zolom, who munched happily on a mutant goldfish and wagged its tail.

"I got this one." He drew the EMR from his belt and clicked it on. Immediately, he realized his mistake.

**_Meanwhile, somewhere in Sector Five…._**

Zack carefully guided the young flower girl through the rubble of the slums towards his latest and greatest creation. She was going to love it. A perfect gift to aid in her flower business. Absolutely perfect, just like -

Aerith raised an eyebrow as the ground began to tremble. In a look of sheer horror, Zack tackled her to the ground, a column of fire boiling up from beneath the earth behind him and sending the manhole cover whistling through the air, cutting a lock of his hair along the way.

"Damn it!"

He watched the pink flower cart vanish somewhere into the stratosphere beyond the plate above, flaming daisies falling like tiny meteors amongst the city of Midgar.

**_Above the plate..._**

"Sir?"

"What now?" Tseng sipped his coffee and looked at the pilot with a glare of death.

"There's an U.F.F.C. headed this way."

Tseng's eyebrow twitched. "A what?"

"It looks like an unidentified flying flower cart sir."

Tseng spit out his coffee and reached for his PHS, the entire helicopter shaking at the impact.

---

**Coming up next on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**In which three Turks receive their strangest orders yet, an old friend makes a triumphant return, and Tseng reaches level four on Reno's made up pissyness scale. **

**You don't want to miss this one folks! **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :) **


	5. Mission 5 Operation Kill a Gnome

**Hi there folks, yet another mission is presented! Remember to review if you have the time. As long as you're having fun reading it, who cares. Let the mission commence! **

**Mission Five - Operation Kill a Gnome Workshop**

The glass pitcher shattered against the doorframe, spraying Reno with ice cubes. He simply brushed the pieces of ice from his hair with a smirk. Tseng had moved up to the next level already? Level four, throwing things. And with damn good aim too. He strode into the room to see his superior bandaged and sitting up in the hospital bed with a newspaper crumbled in his hands, looking every bit the superior he was supposed to be.

"Whoa. What the hell happened to you boss?"

The rolled up newspaper caught him in the forehead. "You can turn a flower wagon into a surface to ground air missile and take out most of the Sector Five surface plate with daisies, but you can't kill a simple snake?"

"Actually, sir-" Cissnei began but was forced to retreat as his hand lingered near the fountain pen and book of suduko puzzles on the table by the bed. Not a good sign.

"You were supposed to be watching him."

"Sir, I-"

Reno crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe. "With all due respect boss, she saw every second of it."

Tseng closed his eyes and grit his teeth in rage, trying to think of what else he could throw. His hand grasped the manila folder by his puzzle book.

"That is not what I meant, Reno." The folder swished through the air to land at the trio's feet. "You will find mission coordinates inside. Assassinate the target, and for the love of Holy, do it quick and under budget. We lost our dental plan because of you three."

Rude's eyes widened behind his shades. "Say it isn't so."

"Oh yes, Rude," his eyes narrowed. "I said it was so. Not get the hell out of here, and don't break anymore bones. It took every ounce of convincing I had to get them to curaga the ones you already had back to normal. And for the love of Holy, be successful this time."

**Two and a quarter of an hour later, in some remote part of Midgar…**

Cissnei checked the coordinates once again and parted the leaves of the bush, adjusting her binoculars. They had been dispatched for an assassination, not to tend a garden. This could not be right at all.

Her PHS chirped with the soothing sound of a robin's song. "Yes, Rude?

_"Any sign of our target yet?"_

She adjusted the binoculars once again. "Not yet. Are you sure this is the right place?"

_"That is what Tseng's coordinates say."_

"I don't see anything threatening here." A gentle breeze wafted through the flowers and across the porcelain garden gnome overseeing the scattered flowers and benches.

"_I'm calling Reno to see if he has anything yet_," Rude replied.

A strange sound echoed from beneath a maple tree. Cissnei raised an eyebrow. "Why does his ring tone sound like two groundhogs mating?"

_"He's Reno."_

"Forget I even asked."

_"Whazzup guys?"_

"Do you see any sign of our person yet?" the female Turk asked, once again panning the garden for any signs of life. A geranium stared back, somewhat threateningly, but not enough to warrant assassination.

_"Nah, hey…wait a sec. I see something."_ The sound of shuffling in the leaves. _"Oh my Holy."_

"What is it, Reno?"

_"You have got to see this, Cissnei."_

"I would if you would tell me the coordinates."

_"By the sunflowers."_

She located the sunflowers and scowled at the garden gnome. "Be serious, Reno."

_"I am being serious. Do you see it?"_

"Rude, please tell Reno he is an idiot." Silence. "Rude?"

_"Sorry. I think I might be growing hair."_

"This garden is sacred! Bow before it!" Reno mocked from beneath the maple. Cissnei reached for her shuriken.

"Be serious you two. We have an assassination to carry out, even if," she paused at how low they had fallen, being assigned to go kamikaze on a bunch of lawn ornaments. "Even if it is a garden gnome."

"I got it covered." Reno stepped out of his hiding spot, EMR swinging at his side and whistling casually. He winked in her direction and strolled along the butterfly stepping stones towards the two foot tall, marble statue of a garden gnome, complete with hat, beard, and overalls. He stopped beside it and brought the rod down upon its hat, breaking the tassel off. "Mission acompli-"

A laser beam shot from the gnome's beady red eyes.

"Holy chit!" Reno stumbled backwards as the ground melted beneath his feet. Cissnei dropped her shuriken in shock. Had Reno just been taken out by a lawn ornament?

A explosion of geranium petals to her left was her answer. With a few choice swear words to put even Reno to shame, she had just enough time to run for cover, ceramic flowerpots exploding around her. This was not the mission Tseng had said it would be.

Cowering beneath an overturned stone bench, she frantically fumbled with the PHS. There was only one other number beside Tseng's they were supposed to call if they found themselves in over their heads.

The phone rang and clicked.

_"Hello, you've reached Director Lazard's Office. I'm not in right now, as I have a hair appointment with the boys and then I'm going to lunch with Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis to discuss our latest advancement of the SOLDIER trading card line, and possibly discuss legal methods for dealing with excessive stalking fan girls. Not that I have that problem, but it is a grave distraction to my smoking hot SOLDIERs, especially Sephiroth, who has complained on more than one occasion about them scaling the walls to catch a glimpse of whether or not he sleeps naked at night in his dorm and if he really is into men or-"_

Cissnei hung up the phone with a curse. Damn higher ranking SOLDIERS. Never in when they were needed. And Holy knows Tseng doesn't have an answering machine in his office. She dialed his PHS, praying for an answer as a flaming pink flamingo soared overhead.

_"Hello, you've reached Tseng's voice mail. I'm not available to take your call right now, as my incompetent underlings have blown something up again and I'm required to investigate and file a damage report. Leave a message. Okay Reeve, what do I press again to save this-"_

Somewhere in the background Reeve's irritated tone answered. _"Press Seven."_

_"It won't let me. This is a piece of crap-"_

She hung up and peered over the fringe of the marble bench, afraid of what she would see.

The gnome's head levitated off of its body and turned 180 degrees to where Rude hid beneath a trellis of roses. Its eyes narrowed in evil rage and twin lasers singed the air in a molten arch towards the towering man. Cissnei looked away, unable to watch her comrade KO'd by a porcelain figment of the imagination.

A loud explosion shook the trees, sending a fiery rain of decorative pebbles and what might have been a ceramic donkey at one time crashing down like bombs.

Rude remained motionless, staring at the remnants of his lone piece of hair, limp in his palm. He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the front pocket of his suit, eyes narrowing with frightening rage at the ceramic menace laughing at him with its demonic eyes and happy-go-lucky grin. No one messed with any and all hair he grew. No one. The gnome readied another shot, but the bald man was quicker, rushing forward with a yell like the Hulk, and diving forward.

Birds scattered from the trees. Crickets stopped chirping. And even a mailman dropped a letter in awe at the explosion upon the horizon.

Rude stared at the pile of dust that had at one time been the deadliest fiend known to man. And then, he placed his sunglasses back on, dusted off his suit, used a Phoenix Down on Reno, nodded to his comrades, and began walking back to the helicopter. Mission accomplished.

**Back at the Hospital…**

There was a knock at the door. "Tseng?"

"Go away Reeve." He sat brooding over the newspaper report once more.

A figure stepped through the doorway, pushing Reeve aside, his stark, blue suit contrasting against his pale skin and polished boots. "You called?"

And Tseng was convinced that there really was a god who looked out for distressed Turks in their time of need.

--

**Next time on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Tseng gets a disturbing phone call, Rufus borrows Rude and Cissnei for a 'little errand,' and Reno learns that you can't show your rod in public.**

**Join us for "Operation Mall Rat"**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :) **


	6. Mission 6 Operation Mall Rat

**Hi there folks! I proudly present to you another mission for our favorite Turks to embark on. Mwhahaha. Enjoy. :)**

**Mission Six - Operation Mall Rat**

Tseng spent most of his morning convincing the doctors at Shinra General that he had not suffered a heart attack when Rude had appeared in the doorway like some sort of god-like figure, complete with surgical lamps to illuminate his bald head and sunglasses. The fact that Cissnei and Reno kept at a respectful distance did not help his case.

_His _Turks. The same Turks who went out of their ways to imitate the three stooges on a daily basis. _Those_ Turks, respecting one another. What for awful hellish crime has they committed now?

He ran the possibilities over in his mind while politely removing his hand from the nurse's grasp. The geraniums. It must have been the geraniums. How much damage could one geranium do anyway? How much was the company insurance policy going to rise now? Worse yet, who would he have to kill to keep this under wraps until they could find a lawyer desperate enough to represent them in court? Last time he had called, they were countersued with a restraining order.

He took a deep breath, requested a nice dose of morphine, picked up his sudoku puzzle, and leaned back against the pillow with a look that said "Do your worst." He was, after all, already in the hospital. What was the worst that could happen?

"Mission accomplished."

What was once a garden gnome's head landed on the tray by the bed, eliciting a code blue for the entire floor.

A nurse frantically tried to figure out just what was happening, while Tseng was trying to figure out if he had died and this was the Promised Land, or if he was dreaming. Had Rude just claimed to have successfully assassinated their target? Judging by the concerned look on Cissnei's face and the smug look of Reno's, this was no dream. They had _actually _accomplished a _mission_. And each one of them still had all of their limbs.

Holy, there was hope for the Department of Administrative Research yet.

"Very good," he fought to keep the surprise from his voice. "You are dismissed."

"They are no such thing." The imposing voice made even Reno stand a little straighter.

"Mr. Shinra! What brings you here?" Tseng paled a little bit at the blond haired menace standing in the doorway.

"I need to borrow some of your people."

Tseng had never seen three people move so fast.

Rude rammed through the plaster wall closest to the door. Reno and Cissnei vaulted over a medicine cart. Three Turks, in perfect formation, fled like the world was collapsing around them for the elevator.

And it looked like they were going to make it too.

Until…

Rufus ducked to the ground and whipped the bedpan across the linoleum floor, catching Rude's feet. The big man went down with a cry of defeat.

"Rude!"

"Leave him! He'd want us to live anyway!" Reno elbowed his way past a startled nurse and toppled a stack of towels across the hall. Cissnei sidestepped a bed with a startled patient en route to X-ray, the elevator drawing closer. They were going to make it.

Rufus grabbed an IV pole and hurled it, javelin style, at the pair of red heads approaching the elevator.

"Holy chit!" Reno leapt for the elevator, leaving his comrade trying to free herself from the trap.

"Run Reno! You're our only hope!" Cissnei fought to unpin the fabric of her blazer pinned against the wall with the pole, Rufus drawing closer with a smug look.

"You will be avenged!"

"Just go you jackass!"

The elevator doors clicked, leaving the two fallen Turks to their fate.

"These two will do."

Tseng admitted right then and there, that he was watching two of the bravest people on the planet being led away, probably never to be seen again.

**Somewhere in Junon, Several Hours Later….**

Had both her and Rude's PHSs not been confiscated by the blond-haired terror known as the President's son, she would have requested backup before they even stepped on the escalator. But now, with all hope of rescue beyond reach, she could only trade worried looks with a mortified Rude as they walked past the kiosks of pretzels and hair care product demonstrations. No, they did not want to try this product for longer, more vibrant looking nails thank you very much. She wished her shuriken had not been confiscated and evaded a small child in a stroller.

Rufus drew to an abrupt halt in the center of mall traffic, staring at the store to their left. Rude raised an eyebrow at the neon sign and exchanged an equally puzzled look with his comrade, playing the "I dare you to ask" card. Realizing that she was at a loss this time, she took a half step towards the person they were supposed to be 'assisting' and 'protecting'.

"Sir," she began, uncertain of how to ask such a question. "This is a dress store."

"I know that."

If this was going where she thought it was going, she owed Reno 100 gil.

**Meanwhile…By the Fountain…**

Reno adjusted the binoculars and watched the trio vanish up the escalator and seemingly debate before stepping into a dress store. He raised an eyebrow of interest. What in the name of Holy was going on?

Surely, they knew it was a dress store. Right?

Rude didn't wear dresses. They just did not make girdles big enough for him. And Cissnei…Reno pondered the thought of her in a dress. It just did not happen that way. The last time there had been mention of any dresses, she had nearly neutered the culprit with that shuriken of hers. Tseng had not inquired since.

He drew his rod and rushed towards the escalator. This he had to see to believe.

**In Dresses for the Best of Us…**

"Not even if Odin rode down here and threatened me with his sword." Cissnei crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the future president rifling through the rack of dresses. She could see Rude trying not to laugh over by the lingerie and corset racks.

She had done a lot of things she regretted in her lifetime, but this one took the cake. Rufus held up a neon pink gown with sparkles and obnoxious flowers across the chest.

"How about this one?"

Cissnei wrinkled her nose at the design. She did not claim to know a lot about dresses or fashion for that matter, but the dress was simply hideous and against Rufus's stark white suit, unbearable.

"That is the top dress for this year's prom," the blond haired woman in the sequin adorned dress noted as she studied both Rufus and Cissnei. "Mmm hmm. Pink isn't your color sweetie."

"Thank you. That's that I've been telling him for the past ten minutes."

The associate fished out a slinky silver dress with sapphire blue fringe and spaghetti straps. "This is more you."

If her materia was not currently locked up for this mission, the poor associate would have been a toad at first glance. Rude picked up a copy of a bridal magazine and peered over the top to watch.

"Oh, no miss, I'm not-" she tried to explain, but Rufus rested an arm over her shoulder.

"Yes she is."

The auburn haired Turk momentarily considered breaking Rufus's arm. At least then she would be taken off of the mission and never assigned to such hell again.

"First Prom right? Let me guess. King and Queen? Well then, you'll want this line." She continued to pick through the rack, laying various articles of what were supposed to be dresses out. In her own personal opinion, they were hideous. She was an assassin damn it, not some frivolous school girl dreaming of being the popular one.

A skimpier version of the silver dress was pressed into her hands and she was directed towards a room with "Fitting" on the top of it. She paled and silently begged Rude for help.

"The only problem I see with this dress is the fact that you're short. But it can be hemmed to proper height. And I have a pair of heels in stock that will knock them dead."

Cissnei grit her teeth at the prospect. Someone was going to be knocked dead. She just had not decided who yet.

Rude was forced to look away at his comrade's predicament, trying to keep from laughing. The great, silent Rude, did not laugh. At least, not in public anyway.

**By the figure of a blond mannequin holding a cocktail glass…**

Reno could not believe his luck. His comrade. Ms. _I Will Never Wear a Dress in My Lifetime_, standing there beside Rufus, in a skimpy silver dress and high heels. It was his lucky day. It was a sight he would see only once in his lifetime, and he was going to enjoy it.

There was a tap on his shoulder. "Just a minute."

"Sir, I really must ask you to leave. You're scaring the customers."

He waved his rod at her.

"And I said just a minute," he quickly read her pink nametag, "Elena."

The blond-haired woman's eyes narrowed and she reached for a shoe on the display case.

"Damn it woman, can't you see I'm trying to rescue-" a high heeled shoe caught him in the stomach and a glittery purse struck him in the head. He toppled into a pile of scarves and tried to reactive his EMR, instead grabbing a plastic leg.

Five women circled him, lead by the associate Elena. Each wore various prom related items, and carried sparkly purses, nails freshly done and ready to strike.

He paled. "Oh chit."

**Back at he fitting room…**

"So my suit looks good with the silver dress."

"Yes Sir," the female Turk straightened her blazer and attempted to regain her dignity as the Turk she was supposed to be. "It looks fine."

"Only fine?" a sense of panic crept into his voice.

"T-the most perfect match for it Sir. No one else could pull off a magnificent look. Your date will love you for it."

He looked relieved at the words and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Now I just have to get this dress tailored to my date's measurements."

He bounded off to inquire about it. Rude placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. "I kinda liked the pink one."

"Next time, you get to wear the dress."

Several minutes later, Rufus reappeared with a triumphant smile and directed his body guards back into the mall traffic.

"So, Mr. Shinra, we should be heading back now."

Rufus brushed an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. "Are you kidding? There are still three hundred stores I need to check out."

**In Tseng's Hospital Room…**

He was enjoying a nice cup of coffee when Reeve appeared in the doorway holding the familiar PHS in his hands.

"Oh Holy. Now what did they do?" He accepted the phone from Reeve with a scowl, putting on his most serious tone of voice.

"Tseng here."

_"Is that you, Songbird?"_

The PHS fell from his trembling hand as he fainted.

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Rude and Cissnei's 'little errand' with Rufus reaches a whole new level; Reno is knee deep in teddy bears; and just why is Tseng hiding behind a file cabinet?**

"**Operation Warm and Fuzzy" is a go.**

**Tune in folks. You know ya wanna. :) **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :)**


	7. Mission 7 Operation Warm and Fuzzy

**It seems the Muse has developed a disturbing obsession with pretzels at the moment...Oh well folks! On with the mission! **

**Mission Seven - Operation Warm and Fuzzy**

Rude dove for cover behind the nearest Pretzel Hut, the remnants of a flower vase decapitating the defenseless little tap dancing ceramic frog atop it. He adjusted his sunglasses and with the practiced calmness of a drugged chocobo, dialed a familiar number.

_"Not a good time, Rude,"_ his partner hissed in a whisper.

"Is Rufus okay?"

_"How would I know? He wandered off on the escalator to the third floor."_

"And you did not follow him?" The bald Turk seemed a bit alarmed at the prospect of Rufus being unattended with a limitless credit card in a location where fuzzy pink slippers were sold on that particular floor.

_"I'm hiding under a bench with three little old ladies knitting sweaters blocking my path Rude. My feet hurt, I was knocked over by a lady with five kids in a strolled decked out to look like a chocobo, a rogue kindergartner thinking I was going to steal her Tickle Me Genesis Doll bit me, and I think I need a rabies shot. Not to mention the florist who tried to firaga me on site and the fact that Tseng won't answer his phone. I don't have the time for this right now."_

He peered out over the counter of the Pretzel Hut's wagon to see a group of children running wild with sticks and knocking everything in their path over.

"Cissnei, little kids with sticks at ten o'clock past the Pretzel Hut."

He heard a frantic rustling sound. _"Son of a-"_

The line went dead. He flipped the PHS closed and swore. This was going to involve some work.

**At Build a Goblin Workshop, Third**** Floor…**

Reno rubbed the scratches along the sides of his face with a wince. Who knew sparkly purses could do so much damage when in the hands of prom queens trying to find the perfect dress the day before the Academic Shinra School of Elite Students prom?

He listened for the last of the high heels to vanish into the crowd and let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. That had been a close one.

But, he rubbed his hands together at the thought of what he had seen. It had been more than worth it. If only he had a camera. Blackmail at its best.

"Daddy! Daddy! I want this one!" Something tugged violently on his hair.

"Son of a bitch." He snuggled deeper into the clan of furry saviors, watching the hundreds of plastic eyes and button noses cast a critical eye upon him. For the first time, he began to wonder just what stuffed goblins had against him. It wasn't like he had ever torn their heads off and blew them up with sticks of dynamite outside of a certain fellow Turk's dorm at two in the morning. No, not _him_.

There was another tug on his hair.

"For the love of Holy, let go!" he hissed and tried to bury deeper, his path of escape cut off by a mean looking stuffed chocobo. He did not want to mess with this guy.

The mako enhanced light of the ceiling appeared between the random gaps in the ceiling of goblins he hid beneath, a very familiar hand digging deeper. He blinked and reached for his EMR and turned towards the person trying to turn him into a stuffed animal.

For a moment, both men looked at one another, neither daring to move. Reno ran the images through his head. He had seen this guy and the little girl with him somewhere before, but where? "Uh, hi there."

And realized his mistake a few seconds too late.

"Child molester!"

"No Mr. Terrorist Guy, you have it all wrong I-" he waved his hands sheepishly to prevent himself from being plucked out of the goblins. Too late.

Several liters of pepper spray pelted him like a heavy summer rain, drenching his uniform and stinging his eyes. Did everyone in Midgar carry that stuff?

He flicked the EMR to high out of sheer habit and looked at the leader of AVALANCHE in surprise. "Uh oh."

**By at the Fuzzy Slipper Depot Escalator…**

Rude adjusted his binoculars and watched the man in the white suit enter the Fuzzy Slipper Depot. He had to be stopped, all of Shinra was at stake.

Adjusting his sunglasses, the bald man sauntered through the glass doors and pretended to be admiring the latest in the Executive Cotton Heel Collection, all while watching Rufus casually gather box after box of the size 6 fluffy menaces. There was something wrong with that boy, he just could not figure out what it was.

Oh what he would not give for a minor act of Holy right about now.

Glass shattered from across the corridor, flaming chocobos, goblins, and disturbingly life-like tonberries flying through the air. Rude removed his sunglasses and looked towards the ceiling. He had not meant it literally.

He had just enough time to lunge for the president's son as the ball of flaming fluff strangely shaped like Reno rocketed through the corridor and down the escalator towards the fountain.

**By the Mall Fountain…**

Freedom was so close. Just three strollers and a ten person mall walkers club away. She made a casual stroll around the fountain, preparing to run for it. Rude could handle rounding up Rufus this time. And once he was secured, then they could worry about the corsage that had gotten them into this mess to begin with.

"Just a little farther-" The force of one very conveniently timed fellow Turk rocketing through the air was all she needed to ruin this escape. "For the love of Holy!"

Water and fake pond lilies rushed up around her as she was shoved into the fountain.

Now she remembered why she hated the mall so much.

"Heh heh, hi Cissnei," Reno struggled to pick himself off of the young Turk he had collided with, sheepishly blushing as he remembered her in the dress. She glared and reached for the piece of fully mastered Ultima materia she carried on her for such emergencies.

"You have exactly five seconds to explain why you have half of a stuffed goblin sticking out of your shirt, a chocobo feather in your hair, a plastic Tonberry knife down the back of your pants, and sparkles on your forehead."

**In Reeve's Office….**

He wasn't exactly certain how to handle the current crisis affecting his office. It was bad enough there was an operative from AVALANCHE nesting behind the file cabinet containing the files on every Shinra employee's personal hobbies, and he was required to provide a saucer of water and a baloney sandwich twice daily until it decided to leave. But now this?

Just what was Shinra doing to its specialty employees that he had missed?

A hiss and two pairs of glowing eyes reflected from within the crawlspace as the head of the Department of Urban Development tried to retrieve the file he had dropped. He paused and blinked.

They were coexisting now? This was something he had not expected, especially after the snarls and pieces of tattered uniform, one familiar blue and the other ratty, that came flying out streamed with blood. He was half expecting a dismembered arm to coming flying out next.

Great, now he would have to put down two saucers of coffee and a ham and cheese sandwich down as well. And unlike half of the other creature on the floor, this one was not attracted to bright, sparkly objects, preferably the bug zapper he often used to hold them at bay. This was far worse.

"Just how long do you intend on living back there, Sir?" He inquired from a safe distance.

"Forever."

Reeve rubbed his forehead in frustration. "If they really are that much of a problem, I can have them assassinated free of charge. It will be a lot quicker than waiting for them to hurry up and die, and we can hire new, brainless ones who will shine your shoes and not try to put laxatives in your coffee. How about a bunch of blonde ones? I hear they're even tempered and easily controlled by shiny objects."

There was a shuffling sound in the darkness of someone approaching the edge of the light.

"No," Tseng hung his head in shame. "For once it has nothing to do with my subordinates."

"Oh?" Reeve settled upon a cup of apple juice and sat down in his swivel chair with a pen and notepad. "Then, what exactly is the problem?"

The PHS rang.

The leader of the Turks then did something that Reeve had never thought he was capable of - he picked it up from its spot against the side of the metal filing cabinet, crept upon hands and knees underneath of the desk, and pitched the ringing piece of metal and plastic out of the partially open window. "You take any phone calls for me, and Shinra will be looking for a new Head of Urban Development. Understood?"

And Reeve began to wonder, just what great force on the planet could drive Tseng against the telephone.

His first stop on the way back to the cafeteria was by the phone records room.

--

**On the next One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Rufus's prom date is having cold feet about the whole thing and it's up to Rude and Cissnei to ensure that the blond-haired brat who's father signs their pay checks has the perfect night - regardless of who's wearing the dress. Who knew that a routine kidnapping could be anything but routine? Why is Reno carrying a cactus through the Sector Seven slums?**

**And Reeve makes a discovery that will give him nightmares for weeks.**

**Until next time, **

**SageQuill**


	8. Special Operation Songbird

**Hi there folks! May I welcome you to a very special mission, as promised for the reviews this has gotten. A special thanks to all of you in no particular order:**

**Omega Gilgamesh**

**Lt. Commander Richie**

**Not Jack Frost**

**daddiusmaximus**

**Senshi of Sadness**

**Peachcandies**

**Krackenl.w.**

**--**

**Special Operation Songbird**

It was Rude who first came storming into Reeve's office carrying the terrified passenger pigeon under his arm. Feathers coated his starch blue suit, tie askew, sunglasses hanging from one ear. Had it not been for the equal status of his two comrades pursuing him with equal looks of shock upon their faces, one might have thought the quiet bald man had lost his mind.

Reeve looked up from his crossword puzzle with a scowl. "I told you this would be a bad idea."

There was a rustling from behind the file cabinets. "It got them here though."

As if on cue, a thick folder landed with startling accuracy by Reeve's apple juice. "Everything you need to know is in the file as usual."

Reno stepped away from the cabinet with a yelp. "Whoa, why are you behind the file cabinets, Tseng? Palmer try to mate with you this time yo?"

The leader of the Turks rubbed the gem in the center of his forehead. "That information is privileged."

Rude's indignant snort interrupted whatever witty remark Reno was about to say. With the calmness of a saint, the bald man folded the file up and calmly handed it to Cissnei with that knowing look of his that said "This is a bad idea but I'm going to give the file to you two anyway."

"Please don't be another shopping mission," she prayed and read over the title upon the file.

**_Special Operation Songbird: For Experienced Personnel Only_**

**_- Anything less is subject to assassination._**

Cissnei sighed and set the petrified pigeon down to read the contents within. After the second line, she glanced down at Tseng. "You didn't listen to me the last four times I said this was a bad idea. I highly doubt you will this time so I'm keeping my mouth shut. Reno, you have a soft by any chance?"

Reno raised an eyebrow and poked the petrified pigeon with his finger, watching it fall over with a click.

"You petrified it? Man you have a sadistic side," his smile broadened. "That's my girl."

She reached for the esuna materia out of habit and continued to read the orders. "Having a radioactive mako glowing pigeon fly through an open window and take an Olympic dive into my Lucky Charms was not how I expected to start my day."

Reno doubled over laughing at the prospect. "Lucky Charms-"

"Shut up. They were out of corn flakes." Reno continued to laugh and struck the desk out of habit.

The unfortunate pigeon toppled off the desk into the trashcan and shattered.

"You did that on purpose!" the furious auburn-haired Turk grabbed Reno by the jacket with a snarl.

He simply shrugged. "Big deal, it was only a pigeon. I fried mine up with sausage and eggs."

Rude protectively shielded his pigeon from his comrades, petting its feathers lovingly. Wasn't it written somewhere in their files never to send Reno any sort of animal?

"Do you realize what the Midgarian Ethical Animal Treatment Societies will do to us! Holy those people are worse than AVALANCHE when it comes to causes they believe in! They'll kill us all!"

A shadow fell across the quarreling Turks. Reeve backed away from his desk and bowed politely.

Immediately Cissnei released Reno and took her place beside Rude. Even the pigeon in Rude's grasp sat up a bit straighter.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Tseng crawled out from behind the file cabinets and shook his head. "Not at all. It is an honor you could join us for this mission, Mr. Valentine."

Reno raised an eyebrow at the Turk in the perfectly creased suit and slicked back hair. And before either Cissnei or Rude could stop him -

"And I thought _you _looked like a woman Tseng! Ha," he paced closer to Vincent. "So this is the great Valentine we've heard so much about. A little hard to take someone who looks like a female so seriously. What'd ya do to get into the Turks, host a tea party? Son of a bitch!"

Vincent stepped over the fallen Reno who was trying to relocate his dislocated shoulder.

"Pay close attention you two," he glanced to Cissnei and Rude. "This is the proper protocol for dealing with an idiot."

He turned around with the grace of a swan and kicked Reno. Rude winced and clutched the poor pigeon for defense.

"I was always told that move was illegal…" Cissnei pondered the thought of what she had just witnessed.

"And it still is!" Tseng guided Vincent away from the fallen Reno who was begging for a potion. "There is a reason we do not use the crotch kick here, Mr. Valentine."

"It is a mechanism for survival. I do not see the harm-"

"Well, yes, Mr. Valentine, while it is a mighty instant K/O attack on its own, if it were to be combined with a limit break or something?"

"Some creatures should not be allowed to breed." He looked towards Reno once again, who was crawling towards the file cabinets. "Just how qualified is he again?"

"He showed on the first day and wasn't dumb enough to follow all of our other applicants as they fled."

"Oh."

Tseng retrieved the file from the floor and handed it to Vincent, who flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes and committed it to memory.

"I assume this job pays well then?"

"You'll never have to beg Hojo for lunch money again."

"I'm in. If we hurry we might be able to catch the seven o'clock train."

"You heard the man, let's go."

Reno winced. "Wait, you're coming with us?"

Tseng scowled. "Of course I am. I cannot be permitted to allow you free reign on a special ops mission as delicate as this. Now hurry up or we'll be late."

**An Hour and a Half Later, somewhere in Sector Seven…**

Reno staggered off of the train after Tseng with a growl.

"This place is a whole five minutes walking distance from the company and you take the train! No wonder my taxes are high!"

"You can thank Reeve for that," the leader of the Turks stepped forward and produced a silver key from his pocket. The lock clicked and the door swung open. "Mind the attack goldfish."

It was like stepping through the portal to another world. Dust coated every surface, cobwebs stretched across the door frames, and something smelled oddly like old socks and mildew from around the corner.

Vincent's gaze narrowed. "I'm being paid to clean a house?"

Tseng paused in the doorway, a bit of a sheepish blush crossing his face.

Cissnei dragged a finger across the counter top. "Forgive me for saying so, Sir, but-"

"This mission sucks."

Everyone looked at Reno in surprise. It was the first sane thing he had said all morning.

"This is precisely why I need the four of you today," he drew the curtains and allowed the light to spill across the dusty surfaces of what might have been furniture at one point. "In exactly twenty four hours a creature powerful enough to make WEAPON look like a puppy is going to step through that door, and I do not want to be in its path when it does."

Rude sighed and stepped out of the apartment, "I'll get the phoenix downs."

Cissnei watched a moth flutter into the dirt streaked window. "Permission to ask a question Sir?"

"Denied."

"Fine, I'll get the mop. Reno, do yourself a favor and try to find some soap and water around here," she paused. "Reno?"

He stood at the entrance to the door, reading the small plaque above the mailbox. And then, with the soft beginnings of an earthquake, began to laugh hysterically.

"This is too good!" he wiped the dirt from the name upon the plaque. "You never said this was _YOUR_ house! Hell even my dorm is cleaner than this!"

"With all do respect, Sir," Cissnei poured some water into a bucket. "He's not lying. This place really does look like a pigsty."

Vincent wandered by carrying a feather duster, muttering to himself, "This is not worth the lunch money."

Tseng scowled at his subordinates and retrieved a washcloth to begin working on the counters. "Perhaps if the three of you did not spur massive amounts of overtime for me I might be able to clean this place every once in a while. Now less talking, more washing."

"You are so not getting a coupon book for Boss Appreciation Day," Reno walked past with a broom.

**Three hours later…**

Tseng didn't know whether to be concerned by Reno's skill with a broom, disturbed, or surprised. No Turk he had ever met knew how to maneuver such a cleaning tool with the finesse the red haired Turk had. One thing was certain, he would never look at a broom the same way again, or Reno for that fact.

"Hey, Cissnei!" There was a rustle from the washroom. "Got any extra soap in there."

"No, I sent Rude out to get some more. We need laundry detergent too."

"Gah, a man who makes 500,000+ per year and he can't even keep a bottle of Mr. Dirt Buster around here," Reno sighed. "And we call you our boss."

**Somewhere in Sector One…**

Rude stood in the never-ending aisle of soaps and house cleaning supplies, struggling to read Cissnei's handwriting on what they needed. Should he go with the lemon scented floor soap or the pine? What about the laundry detergent? Mountain fresh or Meadow Flowers? He raised an eyebrow. What in the hell was mountain fresh anyway?

"First time here?"

The bald Turk nodded, somewhat grateful to see another man in the cleaning aisle.

A gloved hand reached forward and picked a purple bottle from the shelf. "The mysterious abyss is the Gift of the Goddess. In pursuit of this gift we take flight. Within the heart's water surface a hopeless wander will flow. Like ripples to waves come forth the dreams below."

Rude, for the first time in his life, considered retirement from the Turks.

He settled on Mountain Fresh and fled for his life, leaving a confused Genesis standing in the aisle way.

**In the Living Room….**

Vincent circled the menace with practiced strides. Finally, a real challenge. It remained there on the floor, mocking his every attempt to remove it. He considered calling for help, but help was for weaklings, and he was Vincent Valentine, the Turk who did not fail a mission. He could handle this minor detail.

The vacuum cleaner roared towards it once more, ripping the dirt from beneath the fibers of the carpet. The coffee table shuddered as he stepped past with a growl. This time it would work. This time he would be victor-

It continued to stare at him from its spot upon the pale carpet, the vacuum already ahead of it. He scowled and brought the vacuum back over it, allowing it to sit over the menace. Same results. This was war now.

He picked it up and placed it back upon the carpet, determined not to be defeated by the single piece of black string.

And the cycle continued…

**In the Kitchen…**

Tseng washed each dish to perfection while the washing machine hummed in the background, Rude assisting Cissnei with the windows. Why the bald man looked so terrified, he did not dare to ask, but he could only assume that the Mountain Fresh laundry detergent and the strange concoction of pine and lemon floor cleaner had something to do with it.

The phone rang.

"Hello?" he rested it against his shoulder and continued wiping the casserole dish clean.

_"Songbird?"_

The phone fell into the soapy water and three Turks watched their leader swear at a casserole dish.

_"Are you drunk?"_

"No-ah, can I call you back." He cringed at the soap suds creeping down the collar of his shirt.

"The casserole dish talking to you again?" Reno leaned casually upon the broom handle smugly. "What's it saying this time?"

"You shut the hell up-"

_"Don't take that tone with me young man."_

Tseng momentarily considered summoning Knights of the Round on anything that stepped into the kitchen within the next two seconds.

"I'm having a rough day. One of my 'children' decided to talk back to me."

_"Ooooh! Children! You never said anything about them, Songbird! I can hardly wait to meet them!"_

"Wait-No- They're not-"

_"I'll be there tonight."_

"But you said tomor-"

The phone went dead.

"Son of a bitch. Lousy. Stupid. Son. Of. A. Bitch." The phone clattered against the countertop as Tseng drew his weapon and began firing round after round at the piece of plastic. It gave a sorrowful ring and died.

Cissnei peered around the doorway. "Sir, did we miss something?"

"Nah, the casserole dish told him to go to hell."

Tseng towered over Reno with a vengeful glare that made even Vincent abandon his string war to watch. "You say one more word that broom is going to be shoved so far up your rear that you'll be able to sweep wherever you are!"

"Whoa, I take it the casserole dish said something worse then?"

Tseng stormed off to the bedroom and the sounds of splintering wood could be heard as the door slammed shut.

"Was it something I said?"

"Way to go Reno, you pissed off the one guy who turns our timecards in."

"I didn't do anything, it was the casserole dish I swear!"

**About a half of an hour later…**

With a little bit of persuasion and a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies, Rude had managed to coax the leader of the Turks out of his lair and back into the kitchen. Vincent continued to fight with the string as the remaining Turks comforted their leader.

"If you want, I can kill that dish for you," Reno offered, exchanging glares with the floral patterned menace.

Tseng sighed. "Leave my dishes alone. They're innocent."

"Sir, with all due respect, what exactly did the phone due to make you shoot it twenty four times?" Cissnei finished wiping the counter with the rag.

Tseng continued to mope, watching Reno exchange looks of challenge with the offending dish. And then, somewhere in the dark dungeons of Tseng's twisted mind, a plan began to form. A plan to fix everything.

He stood up and began walking towards the door, trying to picture both red haired Turks beside one another. They were about the right age, a little older than normal, but with a little acting, they might be able to pull it off.

"Reno, Cissnei. This is going to be the toughest assignment of your lives, but I can't think of anyone else who could pull it off."

"Aw chit, you're not going to try to marry us again are you?"

"Yeah Tseng, we're not even allowed near the Sector Five Church anymore because of that incident."

"No, this will be better than that."

Cissnei did not know whether to be horrified at the demonic tone her boss was using with them, or grateful. Even Rude and Vincent seemed interested.

"Reno, I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. Stop harassing your sister."

At this, Vincent did a double take, watching as both Turks stepped as far away from one another as humanly possible without scaling a wall or bolting for the door.

"You're kidding right?"

"Tseng, with all due respect the idea of Reno and I being siblings is just-"

"Disturbing." Vincent finished.

Tseng shook his head. "I'm confident it will work."

Rude picked up the bottle of cleaning fluid and read the fine print, hoping it was the lemon fresh fumes talking. Unfortunately, it was all organic and had no preservatives whatsoever.

"And I think the casserole dish needs to die. Look what it's doing to us all." Reno moved towards the dish.

"You only need to act for a few hours. I promise it won't be painful. Stop touching that casserole dish, son!"

"Yes, grouchy old man who seemingly thinks that the two of us are related because we have red hair."

Tseng grumbled under his breath and glanced at the clock. She should be arriving at the station in about an hour.

"You are going to go to the train station in Sector Five and pick up a special guest for this evening," he scribbled something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Cissnei. "You'll know her when you see her."

"But, sir, I-"

"Something the matter, Cissnei?"

"Well," she averted her eyes. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Tseng. I mean, what if-"

"Just go."

"Yes, Sir," she scrambled out of the apartment, leaving Tseng with the boys.

"Now, for the rest of you. I'm going to need someone to pose as your mother, Reno…"

Immediately, Vincent and Rude exchanged glances of horror.

**At the Sector Five Station…**

"This way M'am," Cissnei guided the squat little woman with the black braids in the cornflower silk dress towards the passenger cart of the bike. She was a older than Tseng mentioned, but then again, wasn't everything Tseng ever mentioned.

Once the lady was situated comfortably, she took her seat and fired the bike up, guiding it out of the station and into the crowded streets.

"So you're visiting Tseng then?"

"Oh yes dear. Songbird has never mentioned that he had children though."

The bike swerved, making the person on the street corner duck for cover with his tray of dianthus flowers.

Cissnei wrestled it back onto the road with a silent apology to Zack and Aerith.

"Children?" she wove between the crowded traffic. "Oh no, Tseng doesn't-"

"He mentioned them on the phone when I called earlier. It sounded like his boy was giving him some lip about something. The poor dear."

Cissnei barely avoided a collision with a small minivan, trying to comprehend the concept of Tseng with kids. He could barely handle a bunch of grown men and women let along children.

"I can hardly wait to meet them you know. Me, a grandmother after all of this time. And his wife-"

The bike jerked as the auburn haired Turk struck the brake instead of the gas. She swore under her breath.

"Good lord child, didn't your parents ever teach you how to drive."

She clutched the handlebars tighter with a growl as the woman began to pick out every little detail of what she was doing wrong. "No. '_Dad_' never covered _this _little detailed part of driving."

"What kind of father leaves his daughter ride these streets alone! Good heavens child look out for that pedestrian!"

She casually navigated around the swearing scientist in the lab coat carrying a box labeled **_"Caution: Fake JENOVA Cells, No I'm not trying to hide anything, someone gave them to me, and they are 100 percent fake. No, I did not get them on Ebay for 9.95. Stop asking questions."_** and continued on her way until they reached the apartment.

"This place is a dump. Songbird really lives here?"

"Um, yeah. He does, and I'm sure he will love to see you Miss-" she tried to find the piece of paper with the woman's name on it once again but failed.

**Inside the house…**

Call it Turk intuition. Call it fear, but Tseng momentarily considered surrender

"Mother, how wonderful it is to see you." Tseng stepped towards the shorter woman who smacked his knees with her cane.

"Sixteen years and you do not even call your own mother! For shame, Songbird! I'll pluck your feathers for this one!"

"Moth-" Rude silenced Reno before the red haired Turk could do anything that he would regret later. Instead, he was content with watching the older Turk being hit by an older woman with a cane and reprimanded.

"You dare to keep children from their grandmother. For shame. You are a disgrace to the family!"

"But Mother, I did not mean to. My job-"

"Job this and job that! You should have stayed at the fish farm with your father and I. But no, you had to go off and join this Shindra-"

"Shinra mother, it's pronounced Shinra."

"I don't care what it is. The fact is that you vanished for sixteen years without so much as a phone call!"

She set the cane down and looked around, hands upon her hips. "Now where is this family of yours. I wanna see this so called wife worthy of the Tuti name."

Rude had to work even harder to prevent the outburst of laughter from Reno. Tseng paled slightly.

"Sure mother. I'll go get her right now," he looked towards the bedroom. "Honey, could you come out here for a second?"

The door crept open to reveal the disgruntled 'wife' as he was to be known as.

Wearing an oversized kimono to hide his masculinity, pale makeup, eye shadow, and a makeshift crimson wig, 'she' stepped into the light with a polite bow. Complete with fishnets and heels, even Rude had to say that he looked somewhat attractive as a woman. Not that he would ever tell the great Vincent Valentine that to his face mind you.

"Um, Tseng, I think I might have left my keycard on the bike. I'll be right back." Cissnei fled from the room without a second thought and Reno could have sworn her heard her laughing as she ran to the bike.

"Reno, go 'assist' your darling little sister in her errand lest she get mugged along the way."

"Sure thing pops," he bolted after her with a smile.

"Sir, I believe your children might be in danger."

Tseng stared at the bald man with a look that said, "Not you too!" But before he could say anything, Rude had fled, his own laughter reaching Tseng's ears.

"Your daughter can't drive worth shit. And your son is rude. What they need is discipline, lots and lots of discipline. If your father would have come here, he'd give them both the belt. No child of mine speaks to me like that. And look at this hussy you married. No wonder your brats run wild."

"Mother, please. Vikki and the kids are wonderful people. If you would just-" She shoved him aside and glared at 'Vikki'.

"Something's wrong with this woman. She seems a little too manly for my liking. Must be all that shift work she's been putting in on the street corner late at night. She obviously is not raising your children correctly!"

Vincent shot Tseng a death glare and put on his most feminine voice. "Sweetie. Can we talk for a few seconds? Alone?"

"Sure thing 'Honey'. Mother, Rude should be bringing the children back from their 'errand'. Perhaps you should spend some 'quality' time with them. Let them know about their grandmother I've told them so much about."

As if on cue, Rude, Reno, and Cissnei appeared in the doorway, trying their hardest not to laugh at poor Vincent dragging Tseng by the ear to the bedroom.

"Oh leviathan." Mama Tseng as they were calling her, rushed over to Cissnei and grabbed her by the shirtsleeve. "In our culture women wear dresses, not dress like men. This won't do at all."

"She works for Tseng's branch of Shinra," Rude frantically tried to cover his fellow Turk to little avail.

"And just who in the hell are you supposed to be?" Mama Tseng stared the bald man in the eyes, making a little part of him crumble in terror.

"I-I'm Tseng's body guard. I defend his family from terrorists like AVALANCHE."

"Avalanches occur in Modeoheim, not Midgar."

"She's got you there buddy." Reno shrugged and found the tip of the cane at his throat.

"And you, tuck in your shirt. Women who dress like men, and men who insist on running around like slobs. What is this world coming too?"

Tseng poked his head out of the bedroom and gestured towards his three subordinates. "May I speak with the children for a moment?"

"We're coming dad!" Cissnei and Reno bolted for the bedroom, leaving poor Rude to deal with Mama Tseng.

**In the bedroom… **

Tseng paced before his subordinates - minus one. Vincent sat brooding in the corner, trying to apply his lipstick with little luck.

"Okay, not one word from any of you. We are going to have a nice _family _dinner and then I'll take her to see LOVELESS or something. I promise that she will be gone in a few days."

"A few days! You never said anything about this!" Vincent growled and glanced in the mirror.

"Okay, okay. I'll see if I can get her to go home sooner. Until then, we have a family dinner, pass her inspection as the nuclear family, and life goes on."

Cissnei stepped towards the door. "I'll get the take out menu. What's it going to be this week, McMakos or Chocobo King?"

Tseng's eyes narrowed with a serious tone. "You are going to cook."

"I think you need to consult with your casserole dish again," Reno paled. "The last time Cissnei cooked, half of the Shinra Executive wing was absent for a month and Hazmat showed up."

"It wasn't that bad, Reno."

"You friggin melted a wall and that area of the building had to be sealed off in a concrete barrier for a million or so years after trying to cook ramen. Yeah, it was bad. If we could only get you into AVALANCHE somehow…"

"Enough you two. Cissnei, go cook something that at least looks edible. Go for creativity. Reno, you go keep Mother entertained with a good story about how you are doing in school. Remember, you're supposed to be at the top of your gymnastics team."

Vincent stifled a laugh at the look upon Reno's face.

"You son of a bitch."

"Language son, language."

**About two hours later…**

Rude raised an eyebrow at the seemingly flawless meal before them. Sesame chicken with fresh broccoli, won ton, soup, and more. Who knew that someone who's cooking was lethal could make something that looked so damn good. He poked the chicken with a fork, surprised that it did not fight back for a change.

Reno nudged the female Turk with his elbow. "Never knew you could cook without killing someone."

She picked at a piece of broccoli, watching Tseng and Vincent engage Mama Tseng in conversation. "It's take out."

"_Nice_."

"Shut the hell up Reno."

"Heh heh."

Mama Tseng waved her chopsticks at her son.

"You father thought you were gay there for a while," she looked towards Rude with a scowl. "He used to sing soprano like a gay little songbird. Always standing naked in the yard singing-"

"That's enough, mother. They don't need to hear about that." Tseng blushed horribly.

"Never showing interest in the ladies. Always making up excuses. Listening to that symphony, watching LOVELESS on stage. But here I find you with a wife and two darling children. Won't he be surprised when I tell him. Now your son on the other hand…"

Reno nearly choked on his tea at the words but Tseng stopped him with 'the look'.

"Vikki and I are working on that. He's starting to show some interest in shuffleboard though."

"Just as long as he's not reading that dirty _Cosmo Canyon Times_ and listening to The Materias he should be fine."

"Hey! They have some good music! Aw chit."

"And you young lady," Cissnei froze at being in Mama Tseng's venomous range. "You, I'll have to pair up with the matchmaker. You need to become more ladylike. Master Yeng will find you the perfect match. After all, he paired up Lord Godo and now he has a wonderful daughter. I think her name is Yuffie."

"That is nice of you to offer, but I don't want to put you through the trouble-"

"Nonsense. Every young lady needs a matchmaker at some point. And then I'll have great grandchildren! I can hardly wait!"

"Heh heh, Mama Cissnei. Now that I can picture."

"Shut up, He who shall remain addicted to Shuffleboard and Gymnastics."

**Three days later…At the train station…**

"Have a safe trip mother. I promise to call more often."

"You had better. And keep that son of yours under control. He creeps me out."

"I will mother."

"Oh, I'll have to tell you father about your wonderful family. He'll want to come visit. How about in about a month? His boils should be healed by then."

Tseng paled and watched the train pull away. It was going to be a long month.

--

**Well there you have it folks. :) ****Our first Special Ops Mission. I apologize if it wasn't the greatest thing I've written. The next one will be better. **

**(On a sadder, more depressing note):**

**It might be a while until I get the next mission up - I had a sudden loss of a good friend and fellow writer this past week due to a drunk driver hitting him and I'm not sure if I'll feel up to writing anything the rest of this week. Rest assured that the next time I update, you'll get a lot of missions. And for those of you who follow "I Let them Go", you'll be getting either a large portion of it, or the rest of it (depending on how far I get). But, like I said, this was unexpected and I'm depressed about the whole thing. Please, whatever any of you readers and writers alike do in your travels, do not drink and drive. Until the next time we meet, stay safe and treasure every minute you have with that special someone be them family, friend, or other.**

**And in case you don't hear from me before then - Happy Mother's Day! Be sure to tell your Mommy how special she is. :) **

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill**


	9. Mission 9 Operation Turk Trap

**So I'm finally feeling back up to writing more missions and fan fic stuff after one of the longest weeks I can remember. Hopefully, things will get back on track, but this is a start. Anyway, personal life aside, I now present to you the eight mission. Enjoy. :)**

**Mission Nine - Operation Turk Trap**

The sudoku puzzle was labeled easy, the coffee vibrantly fresh, the windows open, a summer breeze whisking through the curtains, no messages from lawyers on his PHS, no meetings to attend with any of the one horse, one jackass, and one mule of the Apocalypse, and no paperwork needing done to cover for his subordinates screw ups.

Yes, Tseng thought as he took his seat and inscribed the first of his many numbers into the tiny boxes of his puzzle. It was going to be a good day.

And then he saw it, there, upon the tiny little desktop calendar with playful kittens the secretary downstairs had given him. Written in disturbingly sparkly purple ink and circled with about a hundred different arrows pointing to the date complete with underlines, dashes and Mr. Yuck stickers, was **A.S.S.E.S. Prom 7:30 P.M.**

Immediately the coffee tasted more bitter than usual.

And, as though the Lifestream was lining up to pee on him some more, the door flew open and once again the blonde-haired terror stood before his desk, hair unkempt and smelling suspiciously like chocolate and cookies.

"I need some Turks for an urgent mission."

Yep, he filed the date away for future reference and thought about writing it in his journal. _Dear journal, today the Lifestream peed on me._

"They are out on other assignments."

He had, after all, promised Reno, Rude, Cissnei, and especially Vincent, a few days off for practically winning the Shinra Acting Performance Trophy for best actors and actresses in Midgar after the show they put on for Mama Tseng.

"Get them back here right this minute, it is a matter of National Security."

Tseng continued to do his puzzle without so much as looking at the enraged over-hormonal teenage who would someday sign his paycheck.

"I do apologize, Sir, but I am not authorized to call them back from their missions. Why don't you ask SOLDIER for help if it is a crisis."

"They're busy."

Tseng raised an eyebrow. Busy? Since when was putting straws up your nose, dancing the funky chicken, and reciting rewritten parodies of LOVELESS considered busy? He began to wonder just what Aerith saw in Zack sometimes.

"I think Lazard might make an exception to your needs, Sir. You are the president's son after all and Lazard over ranks me. Besides, the last time you borrowed my Turks-"

"I'll just have to get them myself then."

Tseng blinked and stared at his coffee cup. Was he hearing this correctly? Rufus Shinra._ Mr. I'm too Lazy to Bother putting my own Letter in my Own Mailbox_, actually planning on hunting down and retrieving his Turks?

He leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee slowly. This could be interesting.

"I'm sure they will enjoy your company on their missions. You will find them at the following coordinates." Tseng handed the obnoxious teenager a map of Midgar with four tiny colorful dots upon them and wished him the best.

Rufus stepped out of the room with a look of confidence and vanished down the corridor.

"Hey, Reeve! Want to see something really cool."

The Head of Urban Development peered through the door. "Sure."

"Pull up a chair then. This is something you'll never see on Youtube."

**In Sector Five, Playground…**

He had never told his comrades about his secret obsession on his spare time. As far as they were concerned, he had headed off to the local bar for a nice cold drink. And after the week they had, who could really blame him. But, what they did not see, was his detour to the Sector Five train station. It was a good thing they had parted ways for the day, or this would never be lived down.

Rude allowed a rare smile as the swing carried him into the air and back again.

One of these days, he would swing over that damn bar. One of these days…

**Sector Seven, Seventh Heaven…**

Vincent stared at the pinball machine with a look of death. First the string and now he was being defeated by little silver balls and blinking lights. What was this world coming too?

The barkeeper, whatever her name was, not that he cared, continued to watch him and sigh, occasionally keeping an eye on the child wandering around the bar.

For a moment he considered drawing the Death Penalty and making those darn little flipper things rethink allowing that ball to escape.

**Sector Six, Wall Market…**

Why was it that the one place to get a decent priced spool of yarn had to be anywhere but the upper plates? Didn't anyone up there ever even try crocheting or anything?

Cissnei sighed and browsed the assortment of colorful thread. It felt good to not have Reno trying to figure out what she did on her spare time for once. Not that she had ever let him in on anything. As far as he knew, she was madly obsessed with cute little ceramic moombas. Holy knows she had a whole collection of the darn things, most contributed by Reno, and disturbingly Reeve for some reason.

She shuddered and tried to focus on the task at hand. Just what colors did moogles like again?

**Sector Eight, LOVELESS District…**

The red haired Turk sighed and sat back to watch the characters on stage reciting yet another beautiful line of the hit play. How had he managed to put seeing this on the back burner for more than four years? Maybe Genesis had something here after all. Now if only something would blow up, it would be something worth taking his fellow Turks to.

So enthralled by the colorful characters talking to themselves on stage, he did not notice the newcomer to the play take a casual seat beside him.

Until, he casually checked his watch, and noticed a familiar white suit to his left…

"Holy chit man!"

A grumpy patron shushed him.

"Your boss said I'd find you here."

Reno paled and stood up, accidentally kicking an unfortunate man to his right.

"Damn it all to **censored** hell. I pay a **censored** chitload of gil for this ticket and you **censored** the entire **censored** play up for me!" Reno backed away from the pilot and casually made his way into the aisle-way and the exit.

"Sorry dude."

And bolted like his trousers were on fire. Further behind the swearing pilot, he heard the footfalls of Rufus Shinra following at full gallop.

The streets were crowded for a Thursday afternoon. Not good.

He began to panic, scouring the area for a place to hide. There. He spotted an alleyway and turned towards it, vaulting over a small dog and a little old lady and ducking under a clothesline before turning the corner. There was no way Rufus could keep up with that.

Unfortunately, what he failed to notice was the unfortunate infantryman walking proudly through the streets carrying a cactus.

Until…

"Cacty!" the blondeinfantryman screamed and watched the neon pink ceramic container soar through the air towards the railing leading down to sector Seven's Slums. Reno shoved the pathetic man aside and dove after it, the mistake known as Rufus following.

"What in the hell?" The red haired Turk clutched the cactus to his chest and continued running. "What kind of guy names a cactus Cacty? I'm calling it-OhshithelldamI'mscrewedhowdidyougetherebeforeme?"

Rufus cornered the unfortunate Turk. "Because I'm just that cool."

**Back at the office…**

"Hmmm," Tseng clicked the button on his PHS, watching the flashing light congregating around what appeared to be some sort of unusual maze like contraption with a bunch of ghost-like colorful things running around frantically.

He watched the one labeled Reno go spinning off of the maze with a little sad face. Immediately, the remaining three ghost-like things halted, little exclamation points popping up above their heads, and then all hell broke loose.

**Sector Seven, Seventh Heaven…**

He was exactly two hundred points away from breaking the world record of Pinball. Just a few more clicking flapper things, a speck more blinking lights, and he would be ruler of the world. He'd show Lucretia how real men played pinball, and no one outplayed Vincent Valentine. It just did not work that way.

The door flew open, the radio playing a suspicious tune that sounded something like a game over theme. Chills ran along his spine. Not now. Why did everything seem to happen like this. Was he destined to be emo for the rest of his life?

Rufus grasped him by the collar of his suit and dragged him away from the machine right as the little ball missed the last glowing light needed to secure the record and tumbled down into the recesses of doom beyond the flippers.

**Sector Six, Wall Market…**

Carrying three different colors of yarn in a nice little basket, she was ready to officially begin her day. After all, those little sweaters for the Poor and Unfortunate Homeless Moogles of Modeoheim were not going to knit themselves.

She rounded the corner and froze.

"Why in the hell are we doing this again?"

Reno…She frantically searched for a place to hide. If he knew about any of this, not only would she never live it down, but she might be knitting socks for the rest of her life.

"Shut up."

The basket fell from her hands. Why did that sound suspiciously like Rufus with them.

"Hey,Cissnei!"

She swore and collected her yarn and thread. There was no escape now.

Wasn't the A.S.S.E.S. Prom today? She paled and considered fleeing. But, then again, no one fled from Rufus successfully. No one.

**In Sector Five, Playground…**

At the appearance of his comrades strung together prisoner-style with green, orange, and yellow yarn, he knew his boyhood dreams were crushed. Rufus eyed him with that demonic look that immediately made him think of _The Omen_ and wish he had some holy water on him.

The chain to the swing hitched, making him lose his balance.

"Noooo!" He soared through the air and landed face first into the little moogle jungle gym. It was official, he had reached his lowest point yet and Rufus was a telepathic demon.

"Way to go big guy," he heard Reno approach. "You've just damned us all."

All he knew is that today would not be the day he swung over the bar.

**Back in the office…**

Tseng watched the two words GAME OVER flash repeatedly across his PHS screen. With a sigh, he flipped it closed and set it upon his desk much to the astonishment of Reeve.

"That had to be the coolest thing since Lazard went all spider man at the board meeting."

The leader of the Turks smirked. "I know."

**Back at Sector Five's Playground…**

"With all due respect sir, today is our day off." Cissnei struggled to untie her hands from the yarn as the president's son marched before them a little bit like a chocobo hyped up on coffee.

"You do not get a day off until I tell you so."

"But Tseng said-"

"I over rank that incompetent peacock."

Reno could not resist laughing at the thought of Tseng as a peacock.

"Silence! You only speak when I tell you to."

Vincent sat brooding at the end of the string of Turks, wondering just why he wanted to do this again. Perhaps, if he begged really nicely, Hojo might turn him in a science experiment of some sort so he would not have to face this hell.

"Today is the Academic Shinra School of Elite Students prom."

"You mean we gotta go babysit those little smartass-"

"Academic little angels." Rude covered for his comrade before they could make the oh so royal one angry.

"Yeah, little angels my ass." He rubbed the scratches along his face given to him by several of the females.

"But, Sir," Cissnei managed to work the yarn off of one hand. "Why do you need us. We're Turks, not your typical student security force."

"Yeah, they get paid a whole hell of a lot better than us."

"With free lunch." Rude added.

Vincent perked up at the idea. So there really was a better way to earn lunch money. He would have to pursue this further.

"So what exactly do you need us for?"

Rufus paced back and forth, frightening a small child.

"You will find your target at the following coordinates." He handed the piece of paper to Rude. "You are to kidnap-I mean escort said target to the prom at no later that 7:30 this evening. Failure to do so will result in a punishment worse than anything you have ever encountered before."

Reno lazily played cat's cradle with the yarn, balancing the cactus upon it. "Gonna make us lick stamps again for the company catalogs?"

"Damn it. Foiled again."

"With all due respect sir, you really cannot punish us with anything we have not encountered before."

--

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Who exactly is Rufus trying to take hostage/take to the prom as his date? Just why is Reeve freaking out over something in his in-box? Who is hiding behind the file cabinet now? And….**

**There is something to be admired about a man bold enough to wear tights…**

**Tune in next time folks for another exciting episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions.**

**Until next time, **

**SageQuill :)**


	10. Mission 10 Operation Dancing Mad

**Here we go folks after a long wait. :) I present to you the next mission. Enjoy.**

**Mission Ten - Operation Dancing Mad**

The 'Doomsday Letter' as it would later be referred to, had arrived in his In-box at exactly 12:13 pm Shinra time.

Reeve, already furious with the fact that the AVALANCHE operative inhabiting the crawlspace behind the file cabinets had somehow ninjafied its way across the office and whisked away a pack of peanut butter crackers, was in no mood for the afternoon mail.

But when he saw the address scrawled in the upper left hand corner and the tiny dollop of wax with the image of the Shinra logo pressed oh so neatly in its center, he did three things.

He first set the letter upon his desk and slowly backed away, tripped over a chair,

and then he made a phone call he never thought he would have to make…

**Somewhere in Sector Seven…**

It was supposed to have been their day off. And yet, somehow, someway, Rufus Shinra had managed to weasel his way into their business and successfully take them hostage yet again.

Just another typical Saturday afternoon for the Turks.

"This is your fault," Cissnei stormed past with the address in hand, trying to figure out just how anyone kept an address in the slums and more importantly why she could not have one simple afternoon to go home and knit tiny sweaters for the charity she had been 'required' to adopt for her summer project by Tseng as punishment for not keeping Reno, Palmer, and Reeve under control at the company Christmas Party last year.

She began to wonder just how Rude's sponsorship of the orphaned, crippled, and blind chocobos was going.

"How is it my fault? All I was doing was watching LO-" the red head quickly rethought what he was about to say. "I mean I was watching the losing Midgarian Zoloms try to score that last goal. Yeah, that's what I was doing."

"We all know you went to see LOVELESS."

Vincent paled at Cissnei's accusation and began slinking towards a damp, dark crawlspace where he could try to get the image of Reno being sucked into the Genesis Vortex out of his head.

"Damn. How'd you know?"

Rude simply shook his head and continued dragging his feet along the cluttered street. "The Midgar Zoloms lost every game last year no matter how much we rigged it."

"How you lose to a bunch of people in comas is still one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of all time."

The only inhabitable building in the entire sector loomed before them, causing Vincent to raise an eyebrow and remain silent from his spot in the shadows.

"Looks like this is the place," Cissnei tried to read the paper once again, vowing that the first thing she suggested to Tseng on Monday morning would be to get handwriting and spelling lessons for Rufus. "You wanna do the honors, Reno?"

"Hell yeah!"

He rushed to the door and began knocking. A few seconds later, the door crept open to reveal a woman in a short skirt and tank top. "Holy chit. Look at those-"

"Miss Lockheart we presume?"

The auburn haired female Turk clutched the silence materia and sighed, embarrassed for all of them at Reno's outburst.

"Gods he really did send those bumbling idiots from Shinra."

Rude, too hypnotized by the same thing that had made Reno lose his focus, stood there like a confused camel. Even Vincent raised an eyebrow, but wisely chose to remain silent.

"With all due respect, we're not all idiots."

Tifa glared at the group. "Stupid blue suits, ties, not-so-cool theme music. Yep, you're the Turks all right."

"All right look you little witch," Cissnei growled. "Rufus sent us to 'escort' you to the prom as his 'date' and like it or not you're going whether we have to tie you up and carry you on a stick."

Reno smirked and draped an arm over Rude's shoulder.

"Oh yeah, this beats LOVELESS any day. Where's the popcorn and jello?"

It was a time like this that made poor Vincent wish he had placed a bet on what was about to happen next.

**A.S.S.E.S. Prom 7:30pm, at the punch bowl…**

"Pass me the ice would ya?"

Cissnei ignored her comrade and continued to watch for 'threats' to the president's son. "You had this coming."

"Holy, I didn't think she'd hit me that hard though." The red head pressed an ice cube to his forehead where the indentation of a silver high heel shoe remained hours after the incident.

"Again, not my fault."

"You could have stopped her from going all kung fu on me!"

"And given you something else to be all egotistical macho male about? I think you needed to be beaten up. By the way Reno, whatever happened to that cactus of yours?"

He smirked and draped an arm over her shoulder. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She pried his fingers off of her blazer and cringed, scanning the area for Rude, who seemed to be in a very in-depth discussion with Vincent by the fake sparkly castle set up in the corner.

**The Sparkly Castle, 8:00pm…**

Vincent did not know what to think of the stunning woman strutting around like she owned the place in the stilettos and strapless neon pink dress. The way her hips swaggered with the beat of the mariachi music, the ever so graceful swish of her lengthy silver hair, and the way every male in the place continued to stare. It was mesmerizing. It was invigorating. It was down right disturbing. No woman was that perfect, nor could hold the Vincent Valentine's attention for so long.

He needed to get her number to justify this whole prom thing.

Rude watched his comrade saunter off to his doom and merely wrote something down on a small notepad.

**The Dance Floor, minutes later…**

Zack Fair was a simple man who enjoyed a good waltz just as much as he enjoyed the funky chicken. But with his beautiful date there with him, he could hardly imagine a more perfect, more romantic, more beautiful opportunity to show his love for the innocent flower girl.

And then he noticed the three men and one woman wearing those familiar blue suits. "Damn it."

"What's wrong, Zack?" Aerith asked innocently as he guided her out of sight, lest they try to blow up anything else remotely floral. Corsages were included under that, he thought.

A flick of silver glided nearby, grumpily trying to strangle Rufus Shinra every time his hand strayed too far downward. Zack blinked. Wasn't that Cloud's girl? By the way, where was the infamous infantryman anyway?

"Nothing my sweet little geranium. Just a few weeds trying to encroach upon everything."

"Oh. They're here."

"Yeah, let's get a little further away from that gloomy one walking this way."

Vincent struggled to avoid the mob of women seemingly materializing out of nowhere behind him, all hoping for a dance with the stunning Turk who really only wanted to get the number of the woman skirting further away from him with each second.

**By the Punch Bowl…**

Reno could not stand it any longer. No one out manned him. Not some overly emo creature that had crawled out of Hojo's lab at Tseng's request. No one. He took a swig of the fruit punch and slammed the paper cup against the table, fire in his eyes. And with the confidence of Palmer trying to score free lard at the supermarket, grabbed Cissnei by the shirtsleeve and began walking towards the dance floor in pursuit of their fellow Turk.

"What in the hell, Reno?"

"We're going to stop Vincent from out manning the rest of us."

She blinked and barely avoided being struck by one of the hundreds of dancers. "I don't think I have that problem."

He continued to walk faster, passing a mortified Zack and confused Aerith, as well as the oh so happy Shinra-Lockheart couple. "You do now."

**By the Sparkly Castle…8:10 p.m.**

Rude sighed and watched the red heads vanish into the collage of sparkling dresses, plotting his course of action. No doubt this would be entertaining to watch. He settled in, grabbed a danish from the table and watched the events unfold. This was better than pay-per-view any day. He moved towards the punch bowl for a better view.

**The dance floor…8:12 p.m.**

If he stepped on her feet one more time, or anyone else's feet for that matter, she was going to knock him flat on his back and allow him to be trampled by the stampede of high heeled women scampering around the dance floor. Why couldn't Cloud take her to the prom instead of this bozo who could not dance worth a chocobo's egg? She sighed and once again removed his hand from her thigh, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

And seeing two Turks wander by with an intended target in mind - another Turk, her Lockheart senses began to tingle. Any moment now she would get what she wanted. Any moment now…

"Reno, this is stupid." Cissnei sighed as they rounded the floor and approached the punch bowl once again.

"Just a little further."

"Just give it up already. Vincent's obviously got more experience than you do at this."

"Nuh uh. This is my turf, not his. I'm going to be top male here."

"More like top of the idiot scale."

He caught up to her by the table and with a quick leer that made most of the woman chasing him faint because he looked at them, he turned to meet his destiny. Vincent Valentine had arrived.

**The Punch Bowl 8:15 p.m.**

She had mako green eyes, muscles that could tear a Midgar Zolom in two, thighs of steel, and -

"I never knew you swung that way, Valentine."

The voice of one very familiar 1st Class SOLDIER legend.

"Oh Holy…" Vincent stared up in horror at the beautiful 'woman' in the neon pink dress and silken tights.

"Holy chit, Sephiroth!" Reno stumbled backwards, pulling Cissnei to the ground with him, bumped into Rude, who crashed into the table. The punch bowl soared through the air towards the four people waltzing on the dance floor.

Putting his mad SOLDIER reflexes to the test, Zack managed to swing Aerith out of the way, but as for Tifa and Rufus…

"Sir! Look out!"

It was the slap heard round the world.

**Tseng's office, 10:30pm.**

Tseng approached his office to find the door unlocked for the first time since he had inherited the miserable place, and immediately found it unusual.

The figure seated in _his_ chair, swiveled around, hands folded against the pristine mahogany.

"We need to talk."

--

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Who has taken over Tseng's office? Who exactly did Reeve call? Where _did_ that cactus go? What does the Doomsday Letter say?**

**Tune in next time folks. Ya know ya wanna. :) **

**Until Next time,**

**SageQuill**


	11. Mission 11 Operation Staple Shock

**It's pick on Reeve Day folks! Mwahahahahaha. May I present to you the next of the many insane missions.**

**Mission Eleven - Operation Staple Shock**

Something was up.

Tseng had stepped into the lounge for his quick cup of morning coffee and instead found something he did not even know existed. He checked his date book. No, the apocalyptic doomsday was scheduled much later in the week.

So why were his four Turks seated in silence, on couches well within the five foot boundaries that had been set for their own safety, seemingly coexisting with one another? He checked the area for any evidence of hair pulling, Indian burns, or semi-intentional fist, shuriken, cattle prod, or gunshot wounds. Nothing. In fact - they looked almost _civilized_.

Maybe Heidegger was onto something about those strange lights in the sky over Modeoheim and Northern Crater…

He reached for his coffee cup, a little unsure of whether or not he even wanted to know.

"Ah hem." They did not even look up to acknowledge him. He raised an eyebrow. Perhaps there should be a scheduled alien abduction and probing every week from now on.

"I think I like guys now…"

Then again, perhaps not. The steaming black liquid splashed out of the cup and onto his suit and the counter. What had he just heard? He clutched the coffee cup in disbelief as Rude and Cissnei tried to comfort the unfortunate Turk who sat with his face buried into his hands, apparently weeping and moaning in lament of his latest issue.

He noticed the astounding amount of liquor bottles lining the coffee table, and yet, none of the four Turks appeared drunk either. Not a good sign.

The fact that Rude had not even touched his orange juice was damn near frightening.

"I…Can't…Take…This…Anymore!" The formerly stoic Turk stood up and shook his comrades to the side, ripped his suit open to reveal his bare chest, and bolted for the doors with a wild scream of terror.

Tseng merely blinked and dabbed a washcloth against the counter, trying to pour another cup of coffee. "What is wrong with Mr. Valentine this morning?"

Cissnei and Rude exchanged glances, each daring the other to answer.

"Uh, Sir," the auburn haired female Turk began, trying to locate the best route of escape should their superior lose his temper. "There was, an 'incident' at the prom last night-"

Tseng sighed. "The four of you put the president's son in a coma with a punch bowl. I am fully aware of the situation."

"Sir," she hesitated, "This has nothing to do with Rufus."

"Oh?" the leader of the Turks raised an eyebrow. What could be more of a crisis than their future boss lying in a hospital bed with a bruise the shape of a punch bowl across his forehead?

"It's-" Rude shook his head. "Sephiroth."

Reno twitched from the second couch - a movement that did not go unnoticed.

"What's with him?"

He'd already watched one of his Turks flee for their lives. He might as well get both barrels at the same time.

"He lusted after a man he thought was a woman."

Tseng spit his coffee out in disbelief, turning to stare at Reno perched as though he could throw his EMR at his auburn haired comrade. "He did what?"

"It was, in a matter of sense, a simple misunderstanding," Rude added, as though the 'incident' was a common occurrence.

"But he was so damn hot, Tseng! And Vincent was so close to out-manning me-"

"You'll be fine. It's not like anyone actually reads this thing anyway."

Reno clutched desperately at the head Turk's blazer. "But Tseng! Think of the yaoi! Oh gods, think of the yaoi. I'm ruined. Finished. It's over. Destined to never date women again. And think of the mpreg and stuff those creepy fan fic people with sick minds might do to me!"

Tseng frantically tried to salvage his morning coffee from the frantic Turk and failed miserably. "Cissnei-"

She scowled and stormed past, grumbling. "Fine. I'm leaving. Sorry if I'm depleting your 'man time'."

Once he heard the door click shut, he turned his full attention upon his remaining Turks. "How many times have I said that trying to out-man each other might cause problems."

"You never mentioned this!"

"I did not feel there was reason to."

"Well, what do I do?"

"Worry about Mr. Valentine."

"Some vampire goes all incredible hulkish and runs off, big deal. We're talking major yaoi problems for the rest of us!"

"Valentine is not a vampire," Tseng raised an eyebrow. This was really bothering the poor guy for some reason.

"Well, all I can tell you Reno is that you need to reestablish your place on the manly ladder."

"Don't you think I don't know that! How in the hell do I get back on the ladder when Valentine broke all the little bar thingys I need to climb back up it?"

The leader of the Turks sighed and set his coffee cup in the sink. There was no use even bothering with the morning ritual today. His suit was soaked with coffee and he had a meeting in fifteen minutes. Reno's troubles were the least of his. "I suppose you can start your quest to the top again by getting rid of the hideous cactus in your dorm. Consider it a mission until I receive our latest orders."

**Cissnei's Office…**

Aside from the fact that Reeve sat in his office further down the hall, leering at his PHS and holding an electronic staple gun over a pack of peanut butter crackers, the day was actually turning out quite peaceful.

The youngest Turk leaned back in her chair and tapped her pen against the manila folder bearing the letters - **"Secret Mission, Authorized Personnel Only, unless you happen to be that idiot Reeve who can't seem to keep his nose out of anyone's business or the insane Scarlet who will probably just shoot you and steal this folder anyway."**

Perhaps the boys needed more "man time" in their schedules. It did leave the entire floor in a blissful state of silence, allowing for actual work to get done.

The prickly menace appeared atop the latest mission folder with a thud, grains of dirt falling out of the cracked Fort Condor designer pot.

The chair tipped backwards in surprise before she could prevent it, spilling the unfortunate Turk onto the floor and sending the pen sliding under the bookshelf.

"Sit much, Cissnei?"

"Shut up, Reno."

She pulled the file away from him and stared at the cactus as though it were some sort of foreign object. "What in the hell is that supposed to be anyway?"

Reno shoved a small, flourishing bamboo plant to the edge of the desk, watching it teeter above the abysmal wastebasket. His comrade caught it before it could fall and hugged it protectively. "Hands off the bamboo plant, Cactus Boy."

Reno smirked. "But wouldn't a nice, flowering cactus with a pink ribbon tied to its thorns look much more feminine there instead of that god awful, ugly bamboo plant."

**Reeve's office across the hall…**

He heard a resounding slap, followed by the sound of a Turk fleeing for his life, and finally the whisk of a familiar shuriken as it buried into the bulletin board across the hall right as the staple gun went off right above his jacket sleeve.

"Damn." He struggled to pull the offending piece of metal out of the surface of the desk, accidentally bumping the stapler again. "Aw come on now."

The little electric light turned red and blinked ominously at the unfortunate Head of Urban Development who fought to free both sleeves of his jacket from the desk.

He heard the scuffle of the Turks approaching his office.

"Hey Reno…" The stapler flickered. "Cissnei…"

"I hate the color pink you jackass!"

"Why? Remind you of Zack?"

Another slap.

"You leave him the hell out of this."

"I knew he was on the _list_!"

Reeve chanced a brief, hesitant look towards the partially open doorway, noticing the stapler move ever so slightly, as though tracking him. A nervous quiver crept along his spine and his nose began to itch.

"For the last time - there is no 'list' of male interests, and if there was you would not be on it!"

"Gentleman and lady, I need a little help in here!"

The stapler emitted a buzzing noise, revving up its engines for round three.

"In a second, Reeve," Reno paused, the cactus held before him like some sort of protective barrier, while the bamboo and shuriken-wielding Turk held him at bay with a glare.

The soon to be former Head of Urban Development always thought he would meet his end saving the world with some sort of secret, cool society hell bent on reorganizing the world and building cities to help people, not poked to death by a bipolar staple gun gone awry. He drew a sharp breath and nudged the tip of his pen, watching it spin uselessly in a circle out of reach, only to strike the pack of crackers right against the staple gun.

Reeve leaned back to face his doom. "Fu-Ow"

Click. Click.

"Ow"

Click.

"Ow."

Click. Click.

"Ow damn it."

Click click click.

"What's that noise?"

Reeve winced, and looked upwards thankful to hear the sound of the Turks finally cease their arguing.

Reno dashed his hopes. "Probably Reeve stapling papers again. Nothing serious."

"Help me!"

Click.

"Alright you son of a-"

Click.

"Damn it!"

Cissnei stepped closer to the door and hesitated. "Sounds like he needs help Reno. Here, hold this."

The sound of the bamboo plant being shoved back to the female Turk. "I'll handle this."

The door swung open to reveal the pair of red haired Turks carrying their respective desk plants.

And then the stapler turned on Reno.

"Oh thank Holy."

"What in the hell?" Reno raised an eyebrow.

Cissnei took a wise, almost knowing step to the side, just out of range. "It sounds pretty angry, Reno."

"It's a stapler yo. Nothing to worry abou-"

The cactus exploded.

"Son of a-"

Click. Click.

"Alright you little- Ow!" The stapler fell into assassinate mode, snapping closer with murderous intent. Reno reeled back and struggled to use his EMR to deflect the paper fastening bullets, steadily backing away as the stapler wandered closer. "Call Tseng! Anyone-ow! Just get this thing the hell away from me!"

Cissnei reached for her PHS, only to have it shot out of her hands by the offending piece of office supplies. Her comrade continued to battle it.

"Libra! Use libra!"

"It's a stapler, Reno…"

"I don't care if it's a pack of crayons! Libra the damn thing and find a weakness!"

She struggled to cast the magic on the inanimate object with a sigh.

"What's it say?"

"It's a useful piece of office supplies known as a stapler."

"I think your Libra's broken."

"Why don't you cast Bahamut Fury on it then?"

The stapler rattled and fell silent, clicking violently at its lack of ammunition.

Both Turks stared, Reno lowering his weapon.

Click.

**Eighteen painful seconds later…**

Cissnei sighed and retrieved her PHS from the wall, dialing an all too familiar number.

_"Hello?"_

"Yeah, Tseng, you're boy wonder isn't so manly anymore I'm afraid."

There was muttering on the other side of the line. _"What happened now?"_

"You need to see this to believe it, Sir."

**In the Office…**

Reeve sighed and watched the stapler lying dead in the corridor as Cissnei tended to Reno, or at least tried to pry him from Tseng's office door.

"Wait! Hey!"

The door crept shut with an unknown gust of wind, forcing him to stare at the Doomsday Letter he had been trying to avoid before him.

The AVALANCHE operative merely blinked and grabbed the pack of crackers before hustling back into the file cabinets from which he had appeared.

"I hate my job."

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Will Reeve ever be unstapled from his desk? Will Vincent ever have a good day? Will the company insurance policy cover injuries sustained by a renegade stapler? **

**Tune in next time folks!**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill**


	12. Special Operation Grill Master

**Hello there again folks! Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed and to those who were curious enough to read this far (over 2,000 hits so far! Whoot!). It is my pleasure to present you all with our second Special Ops Mission. Are you ready? Here we go! **

**Special Operation Grill Master**

He expected this sort of behavior and incompetence from any one of his Turks, but the fact that it had happened to the unfortunate Head of Urban Development - now that was something he had not been expecting.

And, as he read over Cissnei's report on exactly how it had occurred, he could not help but raise an eyebrow in amusement and stare at the unfortunate man seated in the hospital bed before him, mummified in bandages. "You were assaulted by a stapler?"

Reeve's eye twitched.

"Might I ask how you, the greatest engineer in Midgar-"

"Don't even start with this, Tseng. I'm not certain how, but this is somehow the fault of your Turks. If you would only put those damn shock collars on them and lock them in their kennels as it was discussed at the meeting-"

"Don't you think I haven't tried that already?" He rubbed his forehead to quell the brewing headache. "We're still not sure how Rude managed to tunnel through concrete…"

There was a brief scuffle at the door, making the elder Turk sigh and fold the mission report in half.

"I told you before, there is no list!"

"Like hell there isn't!"

"All right children, knock off the fighting or I'll have to have Scarlet separate you two again," he warned.

"She started it!" The familiar red head poked his head around the door frame, pointing to his fellow Turk, who crossed her arms indignantly and leaned against the far wall.

"Tseng, make him stop harassing me about the list that doesn't exist."

"Enough. Reno, stop harassing Cissnei about a piece of paper in handwriting I couldn't even read-"

"You read my list? How dare-"

Reno bowed humbly towards his superior. "Oh great emperor of the coffee pot, I ask you to share your wisdom with a humble boy on his quest to reclaim his lost manhood."

For the first time all morning, Tseng felt that he might have, for a brief fraction of a second, regained control of the situation. One Turk reeled in, one pissed off, and one confused. Not too bad for the ten o'clock timetable he was currently running on.

"Sir, why are we meeting here instead of the office?"

"Yeah, Staple Boy over there isn't a Turk," Reno pointed towards the disgruntled Head of Urban Development, who was fashioning a miniature scale model of Midgar out of drinking straws and frustrated as Sector Seven continued to fall down, missing a straw person labeled Reno every time.

"My office is not in proper shape to accommodate meetings right now."

"That reminds me," Cissnei scowled. "What was with all of the strange noises coming from the desk area when I was trying to pry Reno off of the door. It sounded like Pal-"

"I'll tell you when you're older." The mere phrase seemed to mortify the unfortunate youngest Turk.

Reno's eyes widened. "You mean that you haven't given her _The Talk_ yet? Holy, a little behind on the game aren't you, 'dad'?" He rubbed his hands together and draped one arm over the younger Turk's shoulder. "Allow me to explain the basics. You see when a boy Turk loves a girl Turk, they-"

A bullet whizzed by his ear, and shattered a row of potions. "When said boy Turk loves said female Turk, I shoot the stupid hormonal male to prevent the stupidity gene from spreading."

Reeve chuckled at the comment, only to have Tseng turn the pistol on him.

"And then I shoot the witness because he's an idiot. Now, on to the mission at hand."

"But _The Talk_."

"She was not talking about that talk."

He handed the folder to Cissnei and it was then that he noticed that one of his Turks was unaccounted for and felt his pulse quicken. He was required by law to keep them under constant supervision, and one missing meant an emergency trigger of the national alert system within the building - just in case something were to get blown up, dismembered, knocked out, turned into a toad, or Minied.

"Where's Valentine?"

Reno shrugged as his comrade collected the folder and grudgingly read the contents. "Probably off sucking people's blood, and how come I never get to accept the folder?"

Reeve wished he had a camcorder to record Tseng's reaction - the infamous accent up the pissyness scale, in which he casually stepped forward and kicked Reno in the shin. "Mr. Valentine is not a vampire."

"Sure…Whatever you say, Tseng. All he needs is a creepy golden claw, a red cape, emoish long hair, to be locked in a coffin, and to create a monologue on par with Genesis and yep, he's a vampire alright."

"Genesis is not a vampire either."

Rude rolled his eyes as Reno continued to build his case.

"But _how _do you _know_? How do you know he's not hiding in the shadows, eyeing you and me up with those fangs of his, salivating over how good we might taste with a little bit of salt and oregano?"

There was the sound of a body striking the floor and the folder's contents scattering across the pale linoleum.

Reno steadily backed away from his fallen comrade. "This is not cool yo. You just killed Cissnei! I knew you were one of them!"

"I did not kill her, she fainted," Tseng snarled defensively, watching with shame as Reno picked up an IV pole and began to poke his fallen comrade in the arm.

"Yo, Rude, what's the rule on hiding dead people's corpses again?"

"She's not dead," he watched the information go through one ear, out the other, strike the wall, and fall into the trashcan by the bedpans.

"Yep," he picked up a limp hand with the pole and watched it flop to the ground. "Definitely dead."

After several seconds, she began to stir.

Rude adjusted his shades and shook his head, closing the door to prevent any attempt at escape, while Reeve fashioned a protective cage out of IV lines and plastic cups.

"Chit man, a zombie!"

"I'm not dead-"

"Rude, quick, get the anti-zombie powder! Or a phoenix down."

Cissnei collected the pieces of paper with a sigh. "Sir, you could you please tell this nitwit that I'm not a zombie and what force on Gaia felt that we would be the best choice for this particular mission?"

"I cannot tell you who assigned this mission, but you are all expected to show up on time, smile, and behave yourselves. I will find Valentine. Dismissed."

**The next morning, 10:10 A.M. Somewhere in Costa Del Sol…**

"Exactly how does this qualify as a special operation again?" Reno wrestled the package of frozen beef out of the Shinra pickup truck and stacked it upon the other boxes of random condiments.

Cissnei peered over a box of buns. "Dunno. But the report says its highly important we attend this function if we want to keep our jobs."

"It's a friggin barbeque for Holy's sake!"

Rude set a box labeled _**'Warning: Explosive Pickles'**_ down and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"It is not just a friggin' barbeque, it is _the_ friggin barbeque. The one that makes up for 85 percent of Shinra's revenue for the year. Our paychecks depend upon these hamburgers."

Reno draped an arm over the box and smirked. "Sweet. So all we gotta do is grill some burgers, drink some beer, and we get paid this year? This is the best mission we've ever had. It's like vacation all over again."

"Only, if I catch any of you treating this as a vacation, you will have to clean Palmer's house next time."

Tseng's arrival corrupted the enthusiasm.

"Can't you take a vacation every once in a while boss?" Reno groaned and watched the elder Turk scribble something down on a notepad.

"I am on vacation and I intend to 'enjoy' every minute of it. Now hurry up and get this set up. People might actually show up this time."

**About a half of a hour later….**

Reno stood before the mammoth of a grill, holding the spatula before him and leering at a certain female Turk standing nearby. There was just no way this was going to work. She tried to advance another step closer with Rude holding the proverbial lasso, only to have him retreat further away and swing the weapon once again.

"Come on Reno."

"No way in hell."

"Reno, have you never heard that there's nothing more manly than a guy in an apron grilling a dead bovine?"

For a moment, he seemed to ponder his options. On one hand, he could gain a few points on the 'Man Ladder'. But something about wearing an apron that read '**Kitchen Queen'** just did not seem right.

"You wear it. I'm fine as it is."

Cissnei sighed and pointed to her own apron, "Already ahead of you, Reno."

"Just wear the damn apron before Tseng reams us all out," Vincent scowled from behind a bucket of baked beans he was stirring with a wooden spoon.

"Shut up, vampire boy."

"I'm not a vampire."

Rude stepped between the quarreling Turks and shoved the apron into Reno's hands with 'the look.' Immediately the red haired Turk tied the neon pink apron in place and turned back to the grill, grumbling.

**Under the tent on the beach….**

Heidegger polished off another drink and leaned back in his seat, exposing his bare stomach to the unfortunate lead Turk seated across from him who struggled to drink his ice tea without seeing it again. Some people should not run around without shirts on. This was one such occasion.

"Gya ha ha ha. I have to admit, Tseng, your Turks are something else. I've never seen such a hopping barbeque like this before. Perhaps we should outsource this to the Turks every year."

And some people should not be allowed to use the word 'hopping' in a sentence either, he reasoned, trying to arrange the ice cubes to form his future much like tea leaves.

"Kya ha ha ha."

He momentarily considered jumping from the docks and not looking back. But before he could escape from his folding chair, the blond haired Director of the Department of Weapons Research appeared in a bikini and carrying two drinks.

"Oh, Tsengy. I didn't see you there!" she looked down at the befuddled Turk now wearing most of his ice tea over his suit no thanks to her stepping a bit too close.

"It's Tseng with a T," he dabbed the ice tea with a handkerchief. "And it's quite all right. I need to check on my subordinates anyway."

He moved to rise from the chair, but Scarlet held him back. "What's the rush, Tsengy? They're big boys and girls now. They can handle everything for a while."

Something at the back of his mind told him otherwise. His Tseng senses were tingling, and not in a good way either. "You underestimate the power of my subordinates. I really need to go."

"Leaving so soon, Tseng?" A voice that made him freeze in place and a sight that made him want to poke himself in the eyes with a spork.

"Mr. President," he paled. "Sir."

Whoever had invented the speedo should have been hunted down, tortured, and shot. And whomever had supplied the not-so-agile ruler of Shinra with a neon leopard patterned one should be committed to Hojos care, as they were obviously not in their right minds at the time of choosing. He shuddered. There was an image that would haunt him at night for years to come.

"Sit down and have a drink with us. There is much to discuss."

**Back at the grill….**

It perched upon the scruff of his t-shirt sleeve, innocent and curious as to what the red haired Turk was doing to the slabs of meat resting against the grill and being licked by fire. And it might have sat there all day long, watching, had it not been for one simple phrase spoken by a certain bald Turk retrieving a bottle of ketchup.

"Reno, don't move."

He flipped another burger and casually placed some cheese on it, watching it sizzle.

"Like I'm going anywhere, Rude. How am I doing on the 'Man chart'? I think 300 burgers should be worth something."

Rude stepped closer, stealing Cissnei's toasting fork and aiming it for his friend.

"Rude, that's my-" the same problem Rude had spotted now caught her attention and she backed away. "Be careful with it."

It was then that Reno noticed something he had not before, a strange, familiar buzzing sound to his left. Resting the spatula underneath a burger, her turned his head ever so slightly and saw it - an innocent bumble bee.

"Chit chit chit!" Both spatula and burger soared backwards through the air in a perfect arch towards the beach below.

**By the entrance to the beach…**

Not this was the life, Zack thought and draped an arm around Aerith's shoulders, drawing her close. No missions, a day off, and a beautiful woman to keep him company for the day. And more importantly, nothing could go wrong.

"Zack! Look out!" Aerith stepped to the left as a flying metal spatula soared on a direct collision course with the back of his head.

The last thing he remembered was falling backwards and the hickory smoked goodness invading his senses.

**Further down the beach…**

Sephiroth glanced up from his magazine and watched the flower girl trying to wake Zack up, shaking his head at the sight. "And he's in SOLDIER?"

Angeal sighed. "I told the rookie he needs to level up a bit more. That's a level 18 hamburger attacking him and it K/Oed him."

"Not my problem," he turned back to reading the latest fashion tips in _Badass Monthly_. "By the way, where is Genesis today?"

"He's out investigating something important. Apparently some guy named Indiana discovered the missing act of LOVELESS."

"Then I guess he's not coming to dinner tonight then."

"Nope. Hey Sephiroth, what's that weird glow around you?"

He pulled some hair away from his eyes with a smirk. "Fan girl and yaoi lovers repellent."

Angeal sighed. "I wish I had fan girls to repel."

"Not everyone can be cool like me."

**Back at the grill…**

"Get it off! Get it off!" Reno struggled to swat the vile insect away from his shoulder as Rude once again missed and struck him across the lower back.

"Stop moving!"

The bumble bee buzzed in terror, clinging tighter to the Turk's t-shirt as a ladle wielded by Vincent swept dangerously close.

"Guys! Calm down! It's only a bee," Cissnei lunged forward to prevent the Turk from running into a box of buns behind him.

"Get. It. Off." He frantically tried to remove his shirt, but the apron prevented it. Vincent tackled the Turk to the ground and plucked the bee off.

"Mission accomplished."

"Oh thank Holy. For a moment there I thought-"

"The grill!" Rude rushed towards the behemoth of a grill as it sped down the hill, having been knocked loose from its brakes by the Turk's constant thrashing at the bee.

Vincent paled, watching the trajectory of where the grill was headed and ran after Cissnei and Reno.

"The beans!"

"The pickles!"

**By the sloping entrance to the beach…**

"Oh Zack, I was so worried about you." Aerith wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. He ran a hand through her long brown hair. Yes, today was a good day regardless of what fell from the sky.

"You really mean that? Hey Aerith, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Yes Zack," her eyes lit up with excitement.

"I lo-"

The grill collided with him, knocking him to the ground and a split second later four Turks trampled him yelling about pickles and beans.

She blinked and watched them flee towards the condiment storage area after the renegade grill. "I'm beginning to think the Lifestream doesn't approve of you, Zack."

"No kidding."

**Further down the beach….**

"A level 26 grill. Nice."

The grill sped towards them, burgers flying everywhere like tiny missiles and the Turks in hot pursuit.

Rude rushed down the hill and lunged for the grill, thinking he was close enough - and fell flat on his face taking his fellowmen with him.

Sephiroth's eyebrow twitched. "Only level 26? Holy these people are pathetic. Step aside and watch a pro handle this."

Sephiroth drew the Masamune and cleaved the grill in half as it swept into their area. "Problem sol-"

A blinding flash of light erupted from Costa del Sol.

**At the tent….**

Tseng, being the observant one, saw it first. Had it not been for Rude's unholy shout of defeat, quickly followed by Vincent, Reno, and Cissnei's scurrying flights back up the hill, he might not have even bothered to check it out. However, his Tseng senses had been tingling, and that was never a good thing.

The flash that followed proved his point.

"Sir, you might want to duck."

"Nonsense, Tseng, there is nothing to duck from." He sipped his tea again and leaned back in his chair, Heidegger and Scarlet mimicking the motion.

"Pickles and beans."

"Are you feeling alright, Tseng?" the president asked as Tseng paled and dropped his ice tea.

"Sir, get down!" he tackled the mostly naked man in the speedo to the ground, praying the impact would prevent him from remembering any of this. It would take months to get the coconut oil scent out of his suit.

"Kya ha huh?" A flaming pickle knocked the chair out from beneath Scarlet and a barrage of rapid fire beans took out Heidegger and the tent poles.

Tseng merely sighed as the screams of the higher ups dominated the collapsing tent around them. Another fine Special Mission shot to Hades and back.

**On the sloping hill, a half of an hour later…**

He could hardly believe his eyes. There, sheltered by a table cloth torn asunder by projectile pickles, were his four Turks, three SOLDIERs, an Ancient, and some random beach guy named Bob.

Reno waved a hand casually. "Hey boss. Nice day for a barbeque?"

Tseng peeled a pickle from his forehead and pointed to the helicopter covered in beans. "Reeve's office, two hours."

--

**I hoped you enjoyed this Special Mission (granted it was not the greatest mission I've done). :) Don't forget to remember those who paid the ultimate price to defend our country this Memorial Day.**

**Coming up on the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Why won't Tseng hold meetings in his own office? Will Reno ever ascend the Manly Ladder? What exactly does Cissnei's list have on it? Will Vincent ever have a non-emo day?**

**Until next time, stay tuned for more wacky adventures. And for those of you awaiting the return of the mailmen, Store Associate Elena, and more, you'll be in for a special treat coming up in the near future. Heh heh heh.**

**- SageQuill**


	13. Mission 13 Operation Candy Bar

**Yahoo! A double feature weekend! Enjoy it while it while it lasts. And for those of you who follow "I Left Them Go" I have not forgotten about you. Your double feature is on its way as well. ****:D**

**Mission Thirteen - Operation Candy Bar**

Tseng paced back and forth, not even looking at the four Turks cowering behind the staple-riddled desk. This was inexcusable behavior. Not only had they managed to ruin a perfectly good barbeque, but they had also managed to land both Heidegger and Scarlet in the hospital alongside Rufus.

At this rate Shinra would be electing a new president before three o'clock.

"Not one word from any of you regarding the status of the company fundraiser," his eyes fell upon Cissnei, who cowered behind Reno and Rude. "I want a detailed mission report on my- I mean on Reeve's desk no later than tomorrow morning."

She scrawled the orders down on a post-it note. "You want the part about the speedo incident documented?"

"Especially the part about the speedo-"

"And the part with the coconut oil?"

"Of course."

"And the semi-nudist guy named Bob who we have locked in the supply closet in case he tells anyone what happened, unless he's allowed to have a one night stand with Reno just to crush his emotional ego."

Tseng raised an eyebrow. Why had he not been informed about that? "Sure-"

Reno scowled. "Hey!"

Cissnei looked up at her comrade. "You know you were looking, Reno."

"It's not like I could help it. I mean, we were all in the same sand dune together. Aw chit."

"And the Man Quest suffers yet another setback," Vincent smirked, his day markedly better now.

The red haired Turk pointed his EMR at him. "You're one to talk, Vampire Boy."

"I've learned to embrace my hotness and harness it to score with as many fan girls as I wish. I am not the one the yaoi crowd is after my red headed gender confused comrade."

Reno kicked the trashcan out of frustration. "I was not lusting after Sephiroth damn it! I was trying to prevent myself from being outmanned!"

"Reno," Rude warned and wiped his sunglasses against his tie. "Quit while you're ahead."

"One last question, Tseng."

"Yes, Cissnei?"

"Why do _I_ have to write up every one of our failed missions?"

"Because I said so."

"Nah, he just likes the flowery stationary you use."

"Reno, there is a battalion of yaoi fans still at the beach. Should I give them your PHS number for a good time?"

The red haired Turk cowered against the filing cabinet despite the growl from the AVALANCHE member within. "I'll behave!"

"Good. You are dismissed, Cissnei."

"Yes, Sir. Would you like the report on lavender paper or rose this time?"

"Surprise me," he turned back to the remaining male Turks. "As for your three. I have a mission you can't possibly screw up."

**The Wall Market Deli, a half of an hour later…**

Vincent sighed and scanned the shelves for what he sought. "Anything yet?"

Reno peered down from a group of nougats. "Not yet. Rude?"

"Still searching the toffee section."

"Wait," Reno adjusted his binoculars. "I see something. There, by the melons."

Vincent craned his neck towards the odd fruit, seeing only a little old lady pushing a cart. "That's an elderly lady. Not a chocolate bar."

"No, in the cart."

Rude removed his sunglasses for a few seconds, not believing his eyes. There, wedged between the package of gumdrops and a parcel of pears was the item in question - the last dark chocolate bar in the entire sector. "Stop that old lady!"

Vincent slapped his forehead as both of his comrades tore after the unfortunate woman, moved into his best version of the oh so cool and collected Turk strut towards the exit, and set his PHS to auto dial Tseng's number. "Sir, we're going to need a lawyer, bail money, and some of those mini quiches the judge is so fond of."

**In the produce section…**

Call it Old Lady Intuition, but the idea of two men in dark blue suits charging from the candy aisle just did not seem right. What was with kids these days? Shaving their heads and getting tattoos across their faces. The next thing would be meteors falling from the sky and rigged elections. She continued to push her cart towards the checkouts, trying her hardest to ignore the men pursuing her.

Several patrons looked towards her in surprise as she moved into a jog, trying to avoid the lines and reach the cashier readying a **"Next checkout please."** sign. But as the sound of shoes against linoleum increased, she knew she had to take desperate measures.

So she veered the cart into stroller traffic, using her old lady charm to compliment every kid and their mother into blocking the aisle ways with their carts.

Reno scowled, trying to climb around one of the carts, a box of cereal catching him in the forehead as a child began throwing groceries out of the cart. "Rude! She's headed for the dairy section!"

**In the dairy section…**

Rude shuffled after the little old lady, who casually toppled a gallop of milk across the floor, blocking his path.

Two could play this game.

He reached for the innocent stock boy's mop and took a flying leap for the puddle, using the shaft of the mop to propel him - skier-style down the aisle. And he was gaining ground too, the cart within grasp.

A pocketbook caught him alongside the jaw, sending him careening into a display of air fresheners in the shapes of tiny chocobos.

_"Clean up in aisle thirteen."_

**Near the checkouts…**

Reno knew he had to get creative now. The old lady was about to reach the express line and with it, their only chance of obtaining their Key Item for the mission. Where in the hell was Valentine when he needed him the most?

He readied a piece of celery and some peas, fashioning a miniature pellet gun from it and took aim.

The old lady seized a package of toilet paper and deflected each tiny bullet, striking random people instead as she quickly swiped her VISA card through the checkout thingy and hurried to the doors.

"Go, Rude!" Reno hollered as his comrade broke every Olympic record for speed skating with two bars of soap strapped to his feet.

Rude leapt into the air, grabbed the old lady, and tackled her to the ground as the shopping cart veered through the open doors and into the street, catching a bump and collapsing into its side.

The chocolate bar landed with a soft thud by the curb.

Just a few more inches. Reno reached for the colorful wrapper located right in front of him while Rude apologized to the elderly lady currently busy dragging him around by the ear and striking him with her purse.

The mail truck zipped by, flattening the candy bar into the asphalt, much to Reno's horror.

**Tseng's office 8:00 P.M.**

She had set the mission report in Reeve's in-box and turned to leave when she heard it - the sound of someone stomping around the office across the hall. Being the most curious of the Turks, she felt compelled to investigate, lest it be someone who was not supposed to be there and a threat to the company aside from the Turks.

With the silence of a field mouse, she nudged the door open a fraction of an inch and peered into the darkness towards the shape by the desk.

What she saw made her flee for her life.

**Tseng's Office, 8:15 p.m….**

He shuddered and stepped across the threshold, the figure behind the desk in the shadows tapping _his_ fountain pen against the surface of _his _sudoku puzzle book. "You're late."

"I'm on time," he pointed to the clock upon the wall and to his watch.

The figure was not amused. "There are penalties for those who are late."

Tseng paled and watched the figure's burly hands tear a leaf from the unfortunate bonsai tree sitting upon the desk. "But I'm on time! Leave my bonsai out of this!"

"Temper, Tseng. You wouldn't want me to hurt this cute little plant now would you?" He held the bonsai above the garbage can.

Tseng froze. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?"

The sound of a bonsai pot shattering, the unfortunate plant draped over the side of the wastebasket as though waving good bye to its former master as it slipped away, never to be seen again.

The head Turk clenched his fists and stormed from his office, throwing his tie to the ground as his PHS beeped to show there was a voice message waiting for him.

War had been declared.

--

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Will the boys skip go and go straight to jail? What exactly did Cissnei see that night? And what's the Doomsday Letter have to do with Tseng's office situation? Tune in for the next episode! You know ya wanna. **

**Until next time, **

**SageQuill**


	14. Mission 14 Operation Mini Quiche

**Hey folks, thought I'd get this update up early. Got a big weekend planned and I won't be able to update until Monday at the earliest. Thought I'd give you guys something to have fun with over the weekend. That, and Reno keeps trying to delete it by 'accident.' Thanks to everyone who's been reading and enjoy this mission. :)**

**Mission Fourteen - Operation Mini Quiche**

He somehow knew that this would happen eventually, and as he picked up the black phone and stared at the two Turks behind the Plexiglas window, he could only image what they had done this time.

"This isn't what you think it is boss."

Tseng raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then please tell me why I'm sitting here discussing legal options with you two when I should be home, tending to my goldfish and trying to finish that sudoku puzzle. Right now Reeve's at home suffering through the agonizing hell known as the mini quiche just because you two thought it would be cute to mug an old lady for a candy bar!"

"Actually," Reno smirked. "This time I'm innocent. Rude did it."

The balding man scowled at his red haired companion and Tseng was momentarily grateful for the barrier between him and them.

"Reno started it."

"I don't care who started it. All I know is that unless those mini quiches are low fat, taste like Holy itself created it, and don't go straight to the judge's thighs, you two are going to Dio's Desert Prison for a long time."

Reno paled. "Chit man, ain't that where that creepy dude who tried to, you know, that with me is now?"

Tseng clutched the phone tighter, his gaze narrowing. "Yes Reno. I believe Bubba, Leroy, Otis, and some guy named Richard have been asking about you lately."

"I'll do anything! Just don't make me go back there! Please boss! Anything!" he pressed against the window, trying his best to look cute. Unfortunately, he looked more like a drunken moomba than any sort of cute fuzzy animal that might have melted the elder Turk's heart.

"Enjoy your time off." He hung the phone up and retreated from the visiting room. He had a lot of phone calls to make today. None of them good.

**Reeve's kitchen 9:00 A.M.**

Reeve Tuesti was a simple man, who lived a simple life, in a simple apartment. He had a simple plat of pansies on his windowsill - not that the mako light was doing them any good, but hey, it was colorful at least and made him happy. He had a simple notebook he kept by the phone for emergencies, and a drawing table for his latest projects that he could not complete at work.

But of all of the simple things he did not have that day, it just had to be his "Quik-Cook" quiche pan.

He rubbed his beard and rummaged through the labeled cabinets in frantic search. Tseng was counting on him to have 300 mini quiches ready by tonight or there would be hell to pay - in other words, Tseng would be allowed to skip out on several more meetings and he'd never get his desk back. It was already starting to suffer from being "Turkized" too and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to the smell of coffee out of his office.

Yes, if Reeve Tuesti did one thing today, it was going to be making those quiches. Not even a random Meteor falling from the sky or AVALANCHE blowing up another mall mascot would deter him from his goal.

Now who had he loaned that pan too again? He tapped a bandaged finger against the counter top with a sigh, only to freeze a few seconds later.

"Oh dear."

He reached for his telephone and dialed a familiar number.

_"What Reeve?"_

"Tseng, about those mini quiches-"

There was a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Please Reeve, do not make me have to bribe Weiss and Rosso Law Associates into representing us again. The last time, they locked Cissnei in a closest, tried to dissect Vincent for some odd reason, managed to put Rude on death row to be executed by attack kittens, and ended up weaseling a room under Midgar from us that we are not even allowed to say anything about. For the love of Holy Reeve, think of the attack kittens!"

Reeve sighed. "I'm going to need whatever Turks are not in prison yet."

**Some time later…**

"You needed to see us, Sir?" Cissnei cautiously stepped across the threshold to the kitchen, surprised to see Reeve adorned in an apron and sorting ingredients by the kitchen sink.

"You two are helping me today."

Vincent raised an eyebrow, a little disturbed about the whole idea of cooking. Worst yet, the auburn haired female Turk at his side was nothing short of a hazard in the kitchen - and that was pouring a bowl of cereal. If Reeve was stupid enough to allow her access to a stove of all things, they'd be rebuilding most of the Shinra Corporation Building.

"Sir, not to be rude about this whole thing, but-"

"I'm doing the cooking."

Vincent sighed in relief. Oh thank Holy. The eye sore of a building lived yet another day.

"You two are going to retrieve my quiche pan. You will find it at the following coordinates."

He handed them a small slip of paper and sent them on their way.

**Hojo's laboratory 9:45 A.M.**

Vincent shuddered as he drew back the gold bikini clad doorknocker and listened for the familiar grumbling that lay beyond.

"If this is about your lunch money-"

There in the doorway stood the most horrific beast every to grace the laboratory of Midgar. It wore a neon yellow rain coat turned lab coat, fuzzy blue slippers with half mutilated chocobos on them, a pair of swim goggles, and a beach towel for a cape. A glow in the dark 'H' was painted across his bare chest.

Cissnei hid behind her taller counterpart.

"Where is the quiche pan Hojo?"

The mad scientist blinked stupidly. "How would I know? I gave that away months ago."

"Gave it away? Who'd you give it too?" The stoic Turk was not in the mood for this today.

"Some random SOLDIER guy pacing the hallway."

"Fine," Vincent turned away and began walking. "Let's go, Cissnei."

Cissnei paled. Did Vincent realize just how many random SOLDIER guys were in this building?

**Three hours, seven hundred eighty two NPC characters later…**

"I'm a SOLDIER."

"I know that."

"I'm a SOLDIER."

"Where's the quiche pan?"

"I'm a SOLDIER."

Cissnei sighed, watching her comrade fight a losing battle with the SOLDIER 2nd class. "Vincent, give it up. He's a SOLDIER. Every time you press the 'X' button that's all he's gonna say."

"I'm a SOLDIER."

"This guy knows something," Vincent pointed the Death Penalty at him and shot. The SOLDIER collapsed revealing a second one staring at the map of the building further down the hall.

"Hey, you! Where's Reeve's quiche pan?"

She followed, the shuriken lazily swinging at her side. This was hopeless.

"I'm a SOLDIER."

And it was right then and there that she learned that Vincent Valentine was indeed not a vampire as Reno and Rude thought.

They owed her 1,000 gil.

**Shinra Exhibit Room, 3:00 P.M.**

Vincent scribbled down something on the piece of paper he had been carrying and showed it to his comrade.

"No."

He tried again.

"No Vincent."

And again.

She sighed. "I'm not unsilencing you until you learn that human's don't go all incredible hulkish, grow wings, have glowing eyes, and give unfortunate SOLDIER 2nd classes wedgies that put them in intensive care."

They arrived before the model of the Shinra Rocket, hardly a soul in sight aside from random village people on tour.

She caught a glimpse of silver approaching with a graceful glide.

Then again…

She quickly Esunaed him.

"It's about time!"

"Valentine." The SOLDIER 1st class acknowledged them, and Vincent turned several shades paler.

"Silence me again this instant."

"Nope." She continued studying the rocket, as though enjoying this. "You shouldn't have destroyed that hallway."

At this Sephiroth smiled. "Still like that Vincent. I never knew you and Hojo were so close."

Vincent glared. "I am not-"

"We all have our secrets. Here, I'll tell you one of mine."

Sephiroth bent closer and whispered to Vincent's ear.

"No way."

The dashing SOLDIER nodded. "Um hum."

"Liar."

"Go ahead, check it out. You'll see what I mean when you see it for yourself."

Cissnei raised an eyebrow, uncertain if she even wanted to know. Vincent appeared at her side and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her out of the exhibit room and towards Sector Eight.

"What's going on now?"

"Guy stuff."

Why did this always happen to her?

**Sector Five 5:00 P.M.**

Zack Fair was mighty proud of himself as he stood by the oven and watched the golden brown appetizers bake, the warm aroma filling the house. A familiar flower girl watched from the table. "See, that golden delectable goodness just rolls off of them when done properly."

There was a knock. Well, actually, more of a weary tap at the door.

"I'll get it Zack. You watch the quiches."

"Sure thing my lovely little turnip."

She opened the door and immediately slammed it shut, barring it with industrial strength duct tape.

"What's up Aerith?" he pulled the tray from the oven with his floral patterned oven mitts.

"Turks."

He raised an eyebrow, not quite expecting that. Tseng only chased Aerith on Wednesdays. Today was a Friday.

"Just give us the damn quiche pan, Fair," Cissnei warned, in no mood to negotiate. "Don't make us blow up your last flower wagon."

"Oh, Zack, what are we going to do?"

Zack handed the pan to Aerith and dusted off his apron. "Hide this."

She struggled to find a hiding spot for the valuable pan.

"We know you have the pan, Zack. Just give it to us and no one gets hurt."

"You can't prove it!"

"I can see you from here."

He began to panic. "No you can't, what am I wearing then?"

Vincent's voice answered. "The ugliest sweatshirt I've ever seen. For Holy's sakes, tulips are not manly icons."

"It was laundry day for us! Lay off for a change!"

"Come on, Zack, this is important. We need that pan."

"You'll never take it alive!" He rushed to protect his treasure as the two Turks charged through the door towards him.

Aerith reached for the phone and dialed. "Joy, this is Aerith. Yeah, send an ambulance for my boyfriend. He's about to be KOed by a mini quiche."

**Reeve's kitchen, 6:00 P.M.**

Two very tired, very irritated Turks stood at the door, scorched quiche pan in hand.

Reeve raised an eyebrow, wiping the flour from his brow. It was then that Cissnei noticed the second quiche pan sitting in the sink, waiting to be washed.

"I found it shortly after you left."

They had been betrayed.

**Shinra Cafeteria, 7:00 P.M.**

"Tseng?"

The leader of the Turks dropped his sandwich in shock, turning to see the newcomer to the table - his table. Not even his own Turks dared to disturb him here. So why in the hell was the resident Director of SOLDIER now sitting across from him, white gloved hands folding a napkin into an elegant origami swan?

What had his Turks done now?

"I have an urgent mission for you and your Turks."

--

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions - **

**The Turks gear up for their mission from Director Lazard, but first must be reevaluated in their skills…Will Reno ever stop getting zapped by the little red robot thing? Can Rude master the concept of rolling through enclosed spaces? Will Cissnei be able to jump over the unfairly tall obstacles? And more importantly, will Vincent EVER manage to pick up that darn treasure box?**

**You're in for a treat folks. Tune in for 'Operation Evaluation'. You know you're curious.**

**Until we meet again, **

**Sage Quill :)**


	15. Special Operation Evaluation

**Welcome back folks to another Special Mission for our favorite Turks. Those of you who've played Dirge of Cerberus will probably recognize some of the parts of this particular exercise. (Yes, I am aware I omitted some key training points thank you very much. But all in the name of humor.) Anyway, enjoy. :)**

**Special Operation Evaluation **

It happened every couple or so years, most often when the higher ups felt compelled to show their utmost 'appreciation' for the work he had done for them over the course of the random allotted time period that grew longer each time like Palmer's waistband.

And in all honesty, that's how he had managed to avoid it this long - lots of free lard.

Had he known what the letter being hand delivered to him by Director Lazard contained, he would have started running long before now. Unfortunately, the 'convenient' **out of order** sign on the elevator prevented an easy escape, leaving his only other option being to rappel down the side of the building into a trash truck - like the Turks actually did things like that.

Hell, he thought, they'd probably manage to weave a giant spider web and manage to get eaten by the spider somewhere between the window and the truck with the ropes. He sighed and stabbed the letter opener against he seal, allowing the piece of paper to fall against the desk as though it were a lethal weapon about to attack him.

"For Holy's sake."

**Turks' Simulator Waiting Room - 7:00 A.M.**

Reno tapped his EMR against his shoulder and watched the blinking red light above the door.

"So what do you think it does?" He finally asked, watching its hypnotic blinking as his comrades patiently sat, studying their weapons, or more importantly, searching for some method of escape.

"Blinks," Rude replied and continued polishing his brass knuckles.

"No man, I mean what does it _do_?" The red headed Turk stepped closer to the light and tapped it with the edge of his EMR.

Cissnei sighed. "If you must know, those blinking lights are actually tiny apartments for alien life forms whose spaceships have broken down here on Gaia and are currently awaiting parts being manufactured in Banora. They turn blue when they're relaxing in their tiny alien hot tubs, reading their tiny alien pornos, and making tiny alien babies."

Vincent pretended to sneeze to hide his amusement at the look on Reno's race.

"Huh, I never knew."

"There's a lot you don't know."

"So, what are those strange glowing gates in Kalm then?"

The female Turk set the shuriken aside. "Do you really want to know? I mean, they are bluish white."

"Damn right I gotta know."

"Well, they're-"

A rather depressing secretary in a gray woolen suit rounded the corner. "You must be Tseng's brood. My name is Idontgiva and I understand you are here for your training exercises."

Reno paled. "Chit man, Tseng never said anything about training!"

"It was on the bulletin board."

He swung the EMR against his shoulder again. "Who in the hell actually reads that thing anyway?"

Three Turks and the secretary raised their hands.

"You guys suck."

**Twenty minutes, seventy packets of paperwork later…**

The four Turks stood in the open, steel reinforced room, watching the crates arranged by janitors too lazy to move them to where they were supposed to go. Vincent wrinkled his nose at the one on the left. Some unfortunate Shinra employee was perfectly justified in refusing the cafeteria food from now on.

The automated voice boomed over the speakers.

_"Verifying data. Welcome Short, Bald, Depressed, and Yaoi Wannabe - Now beginning Idiot Elimination System, codename Turks Administrative Research Department Evaluation Simulation."_

Reno pointed the EMR at the invisible speaker. "I am not a yaoi wanna be!"

The voice ignored him.

_"This exercise will involve the mundane things you should already know how to do but suck at anyway. Please be aware that Shinra Manufacturing, the Midgarian Ethical Animal Treatment Society, some dude named Dominic, and Pretzel Hut are not responsible for loss of limbs, injuries, manhood, amnesia, damages to already fragile self-esteem, provoked swear words, your own stupidity, mpreg, or Fluffy. If you have any questions during the session, go over to that glowing green box, press the "I'm stuck key" and wait to be mocked."_

**Session One…**

A red box appeared before them, detailing their first task.

_'Engage the mini bot in the center of the room and follow it around the square. Points that really don't matter will be awarded if you can do something so simple.'_

"This is going to be easy," Reno casually stepped up to the mini bot standing on the corner of the square, nowhere close to where it was supposed to have been. "Hi there robot, I'm gonna follow you around for a little while. How about you-"

A jolt of electricity shot from the antenna, knocking the flamboyant Turk onto his rear. From the edge of the square, his fellow Turks struggled to keep composed.

"Alright you little piece of-" he turned the EMR on and stood up, watching the mini bot raise its antenna much like a scorpion and scatter back a few steps, accepting the challenge.

"Reno! Just start chasing it already so the rest of us can get on with our lives."

"How about you chase the little chit."

Vincent shrugged. "We will once you do it first."

Grumbling, the red haired Turk began trotting after the robot.

With a click, the robot changed directions, moving slowly around the square with the four Turks following.

"This ain't so bad," Reno looked down at his feet, coated in a strange sparkling substance. "It's peeing sparkles on me!"

"Those are point evaluation things," Cissnei caught up to him as he tried to wipe the offending sparkles from his feet and run at the same time.

"It's robot pee." He tripped over a crate.

Vincent shook his head and passed the fallen Turk. "Rookie."

For a few minutes, the mini bot circled the square, throwing sparkles all over the Turks determined to chase it.

"Look out! It's headed out of the square!"

Vincent and Rude broke from the pack to chase the offending machine, watching in horror as it scaled the wall and began shaking its metal rear at them. Another red box appeared.

_'Watch the robot move and insult you.'_

Cissnei raised an eyebrow as the machine continued to wiggle back and forth, throwing sparkles across the Turks below it and pointing its antenna suggestively at Reno. "Is that thing mooning us?"

Strange techno music began to play from the speakers.

"Yep."

It fell from the wall with a sad chime and rested on its back, mechanical legs pawing at the air before falling limp.

Cissnei took a step away from Rude as he lowered Vincent's Death Penalty and stared at the fallen mini bot. "It was pissing me off."

Reno whistled at the damage done to the offensive machine. "Nice shot big guy, you got it right in the-"

"Hey, look, we can move on to the next session."

Cissnei lead the way to the next task.

The robot waited, its blue screen zooming in on the last person through the door.

**_"Name: Reno, Gender: Unknown, but thought to be some sort of hybrid housetrainable male, Orders: Kill."_**

It righted itself and slunk along the corridor behind them.

**Session Two…**

"Not even if I could opt out of washing Palmer's underwear for doing it," the auburn haired Turk stared at the unreasonably tall set of aesthetically horrific stair-like blocks roughly seven feet tall arranged before her.

Vincent made a mental calculation between the Turk's height and the obstacle in question.

There was no way…But, he reasoned, it would be fun to watch.

Reno kicked his feet against the stone from the corridor entrance with a mischievous smirk. "What's wrong short one? Having a bit of trouble down there?"

The shuriken buried into the wall beside him.

"Now you're gonna have to come up here and get it!"

"Jackass."

"Hee Haw!"

Rude pointed to the stairs. "The trick is to get a fast enough running start."

She blinked. Running start? From where exactly? The door had long since closed, leaving roughly six feet of room before the obstacle.

"Watch this." Rude backed up to the door and took a running leap for the wall-like structure, casually flipping up to where Reno sat. He looked down to the female Turk, who was trying to figure out if she had seen what she had.

Had Rude just become one with the Matrix? She really needed to stop attending the Turk 'family' movie night.

"Now you try."

Despite her better judgment and the insistent hee hawing of the jackass officially known as Reno, she jumped for the stairs.

"Not," she scrambled for anything to grab hold of, slipping backwards. "Happen-"

Vincent flinched as she landed back onto the ground. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

"This is not a difficult obstacle. How you managed to pass it the first time-"

"Shut the hell up, vampire boy."

He stepped over to the wall and did a pleasant little skip, propelling himself upwards and using the air like a ladder. "You just use the air to your advantage. Like this."

She did not want to admit it, but all Vincent would need to make his little 'example' great would have been a tutu and some slippers. And judging from the way Reno and Rude were looking at him, she was not the only one thinking it. Still, it was worth a try…

"You look like a friggin' baller-Ouch chit what the hell?" Reno turned around in a hurry, finding nothing there aside from Rude. "Stop poking me in the-"

A bolt of electricity grazed the red head's shoulder from the wall, prompting him to look up.

The mini bot clicked its antenna at him in the robot version of the middle finger.

"Oh chit!" He stood up to avoid the fog of sparkles descending upon him and stepped backwards, tumbling down the flight of steps.

Almost there, she willed herself onward, climbing the obstacles that were supposed to be jumped. Just a few more steps and she could move on to something more geared to her size.

"Reno!" Vincent lunged for his red haired companion - missing him by three inches and falling into the cloud of sparkles. "Cissnei! Look out!"

She grasped the next to last corner and looked up as the flamboyant jackass crashed into her, dragging her back down to the ground floor in a flurry of sparkles.

Vincent had to hand it to the female Turk, she was not getting anything less than an 'S' in materia usage.

**Sesson Three…**

Reno limped along the corridor, using Rude for a crutch. He'd never even heard of a blizzaga being used like that before.

"Oh chit man, not again!" He reached for his EMR as the red box appeared before them with their next task.

_'Pick up Shinra's useless garbage.'_

Great, just wonderful. The elite Department of Administrative Research was now supposed to pick up other people's garbage, and get graded for it. This was going to be a long day.

"Well, this seems easy enough. Let's do it."

**Minutes later…**

The silver box leered at the stoic Turk now glaring back at it with the Death Penalty drawn and aimed for the latch.

"How did you do that?" he scowled, watching his comrade effortlessly retrieve a phoenix down.

She shrugged. "I just walked up to it and it said I got a phoenix down."

Vincent tried stepping up to the box, his legs becoming tangled as he tripped and fell against the little green glowing box.

_"You're clumsy, and ugly too. Heidegger can do this better than you."_

He began shooting the box, the bullets ricocheting back into the robots rushing through the corridor by the gun turret they had yet to get to.

Reno peered around the corner, barely avoiding a barrage of swear words. "Having some problems there, Vince?"

"Why-" he shot at the latch. "Won't. It. Open!"

The box flickered mockingly as the terminal continued to spout insults.

"Maybe it doesn't like you," Rude offered moving towards the next section, his newly acquired piece of fire materia clutched in his hands.

"It's okay Vincent. You'll master it someday." Cissnei attempted to comfort him, but retreated as he reached for the silver box, a pair of wings sprouting from his back and his head levitating from his body before settling back onto his shoulders.

"Chaos master shiny box now!" He slammed the box against the wall, falling to the ground as it ricocheted back and struck him between the legs. Reno whistled innocently and watched the being known as Chaos turn back into a sobbing Vincent. "It's just not fair! I wanna open the box!"

A shrill clicking sound filled the air, the mini bot standing in the doorway, a pair of machine guns mounted and focused on the unfortunate Turk.

Reno took a step in reverse, his foot colliding with the box. "Cool, an elixir."

And realized his mistake a second later.

**Session Four…**

_'Crouch down and crawl through the hole.'_

It was her kind of obstacle. Simple, easy to navigate, and one she could not possibly fail today. As she navigated her way through the twisting corridor after Vincent and Reno, she could have sworn she heard something clicking against the metal above them though, but brushed it off. After all, the ceiling was solid steel. There was nothing up there.

Light filtered through the exit of the corridor, prompting the group to move faster. One more obstacle and they were home free.

Until Reno suddenly halted, EMR extended and a look of concern on his face. "Oh chit."

"What's wrong?"

"Remember those beans I had the other night?"

Vincent held his gun pointed at the red haired menace. "You dare to fart in my presence and you will die."

"Yeah well, I can't really help that now."

"Cissnei, do me a favor and petrify him until we get ahead of him."

She reached for the piece of materia.

"Um," Rude hesitated. "I've got a minor situation back here."

"What now," Vincent sighed, glaring at the treasure box dropped by an unfortunate robot thing that continued to resist his best attempts of opening.

The big man continued to look towards the ground. "I'm stuck."

"You can't be stuck. These walls are coated in Crisco for Holy's sake. There's no way."

He tried to move again to little avail. "Nope, I'm stuck."

"Sweet Holy. Cissnei, help me get him unstuck. Reno, you scout the area ahead for enemies."

The red haired Turk saluted with a smile and crawled forward, whistling. "You got it."

The menace dropped from the ceiling in front of the startled Turk, its antenna clicking and a rocket launcher on its back. "Oh chit."

A loud explosion filled the corridor.

**Five minutes later…**

Cissnei leaned heavily against the wall, trying to understand the concept of training and what for purpose it actually served aside from humiliating them all. From the corner of her eye she saw Vincent carrying the treasure box under one arm and prodding Reno ahead of him like some sort of livestock. Rude limped along behind them, flinching every couple of steps from his encounter with the crawl space corridor.

The remnants of the mini bot sparked from beneath the rafter and smoke pouring from the terminals. The automated voice chimed over the speakers.

_"Have a nice day. Shinra Manufacturing salutes you on a job well failed."_

**--**

**Heh, well there's your Special Mission I owed ya folks. As you can tell, I took some liberties and omitted some things, but I think it turned out alright. :P Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Next time: **

**Lazard begins preparing for the upcoming mission. Reeve reads Tseng's mail. And our lovable leader**** gets the results of his subordinates tests...**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	16. Mission 16 Operation Vaccination

**Thought I'd give you another mission this week for the heck of it. :) Enjoy the randomness!**

**Mission Sixteen- Operation Vaccination**

Tseng sat down in the Turks' Lounge and set his coffee upon the bruised and battered coffee table directly in the center of the room . Not even the strongest cup of coffee in the world could stave off the headache brought about by his subordinates performances the day before.

He exchanged a glance with Director Lazard and turned towards the foursome seated across from him. "You took over one billion points of damage from the mini bot?"

Reno scowled. "It was pissing sparkles all over me and tried to mate with me twice, once which it almost succeeded!"

"And you, just how did you manage to get stuck in the Crisco corridor again?"

Rude tugged at his tie absently. "Low hanging ceiling."

He caught a glimpse of Cissnei trying to hide from the all knowing glare they dubbed 'The look.' "I'm not even going to say what I'm thinking."

Lazard crossed his arms across his chest and casually eyed the four Turks. "Perhaps they became Turks a little too early, Tseng. I mean, that one can't even pick up items. Maybe a little more-"

Tseng crumpled the results and glared a look his subordinates had never seen him use before.

Reno went to make the popcorn.

"Considering your SOLDIER test involves hosting a successful tea party and being graded on how well they can handle the catwalk, I'd say you need to shut the hell up."

"Oooo."

"My Turks will be more than capable of handling whatever mission you throw at them. Isn't that right?"

Reno glanced up from the popcorn maker. "Hell yeah!"

Lazard shook his head and adjusted his spectacles. "You underestimate my SOLDIERs and this mission, Tsing."

Tseng pulled out his little black book and produced a pen from his blazer pocket. "It's Tseng, with a T. Care to wager on that, Lizard?"

"It's Lazard."

"Get my name right and I shall get yours right," the lead Turk made a few mental calculations. "If my Turks best your SOLDIERs on this mission, then you are to remove those suggestive scratch and sniff stickers from our office name plates at once. And for the love of Holy, stop trying to steal our soap. I already told you that you can buy it at the local mini mart. Put that down at once."

"But it smells so good!" He put the bar of soap aside. "Fine, but if my SOLDIERs prove to be too much for your little failures, you owe us all manicures - the good kind," he rubbed his chin. "And the red head is to be neutered."

"Tseng!"

"Deal."

And so the war officially began.

**Sector Eight, LOVELESS District, 6:30 A.M.**

Rude adjusted his safari hat and steered the jeep through the narrow alleyway, the radio blaring an interesting mixture of Mideel hip hop and Modeoheim jazz. He tapped his hand against the steering wheel, simply enjoying the drive, not that it was just a drive mind you. It was the drive of the day.

Reno propped his feet up on the dashboard with a sigh. "So ya think this will work yo?"

His bald companion nodded, adjusting a mirror and making yet another left.

**In an alleyway not far away…**

"They gone yet?" Angeal poked his head out of a trashcan, watching the elder SOLDIER peering through the binoculars at the retreating vehicle.

"Someone needs to warn the Fair pup."

The silver haired general tapped his foot impatiently, watching his comrades scratch the backs of their necks and recheck to see it their belts were buckled and their boots were tied. "Let's not all volunteer at once now. Angeal?"

"Er, much as I love the little moron, I really can't. You see, I'm-" his eyes roved shiftily from side to side. "Allergic, yes allergic to his hair spray. So allergic that my fingers might melt off if I come within two hundred feet of it and then I wouldn't be able to lift this big old sword and you'd have to do all of the work."

"And you claim you want fan girls to notice you. Genesis?"

He flipped the general off and continued to read the little blue book in his grasp.

"Okay, fine, we'll take a vote. Whomever is smart enough to step back when I say Hojo doesn't have to go find Fair. Hojo."

He looked towards the two SOLDIERs, both of which had taken several steps back. Genesis looked up from his book.

"The gift of the Goddess beseeches her gift upon you on the dawn of a new moron."

"Damn it."

He grabbed his can of Fan Girl Repellant and gave himself a quick coating before storming off to find the rookie SOLDIER.

**Sector Five, behind a pile of rubble, 6:50 A.M.**

There, by the flower girl's prized sunflowers. She adjusted the scope of the rifle for a better view, watching him graze upon his plate of pancakes with grape jelly. It was almost sad that it had come to this, but orders were orders.

She clicked the cartridge into place. "You ready, Vincent?"

There was a rustle from the blueberry bush growing against the wall. "Yes. I've got the first one."

The stoic Turk crept forward and leveled the rifle with the young SOLDIER first class.

**Inside the house…**

"These pancakes are great. What's your secret?"

Aerith nervously arranged a vase of flowers to hide the box of Betty Crocker premade pancake batter from view. "Old family recipe the Ancients coined."

He smiled and reached for his orange juice.

There was a click, a small cry of surprise, and the sound of the flower girl falling to the ground in a disoriented heap. He raised an eyebrow and rushed to his beloved's side.

"You hear me, Lifestream! Screw your Ancient to Ancient rules! I will find a way into your ancestry gene pool yet! Hey, what's this?" He plucked the tiny dart from her shoulder and read the letters bolded on the side.

**_Distemper._**

Zack paled and leapt over his fallen girlfriend with an animalistic whimper. "Sorry babe, but this is urgent. I'll take care of you later."

She groaned.

**In the garden…**

Cissnei watched the SOLDIER look around like a wild chocobo and draw the blinds, not so subtlety sneaking away. "Vincent, you moron. You just distempered the Ancient!"

He reloaded a second cartridge and shrugged. "Well, I did Zack a favor. She's going to kill him when he returns for lunch."

"That's not how it works…He's getting away."

"To the Turk Mobile!"

She vowed right there and then that she would never work with Vincent Valentine on a mission like this ever again.

**Sector Eight, LOVELESS District, 7:00 A.M.**

Reno craned his neck just in time to see the shadow dart across the street, trip over a trashcan, utter a swear word, recomb his hair, and bolt down the alleyway. "Looks like Angeal knows we're here."

Rude picked up a high powered rifle from the backseat and nodded, backing the jeep between two piles of rubble and killing the lights. He motioned for his comrade to take the lead.

"You got it big guy. You want Parvo? Or do I get it."

"I want Kennel Cough."

"Sweet," he loaded the cartridge and crept along the wall, following the trail of hair care products.

"Here kitty kitty kitty."

The flashlight's beam cut through the alleyway, scanning over the dismembered bottles of shampoo and conditioner. The red haired Turk dipped his fingers into the substance. Vanilla Nut. These were Lazard's boys alright.

A trashcan crashed to the cement from the left, prompting Rude into sniper mode.

"Over there!" The dart flew through the air, eliciting a hiss of surprise from the man in the shadows.

"Did you get him?"

"Not sure yet."

For a moment, bald man and mad scientist stared, each trying to come up with a good excuse as to why they were both in the same alleyway.

Hojo pulled the dart out of his forehead and flicked it aside. A second shuffling sound echoed from behind the trashcans.

"Mr. Hojo, Sir," the blonde infantryman pulled the dart out of his shoulder with a wince. "Isn't this dangerous?"

"Quiet you. These good fellows are simply trying to rid Midgar of disease. Now be a good little future world killer and find me a can of tuna fish. Valentine is going to be hungry after his mission."

Both Reno and Rude backed away very slowly. Angeal could wait.

**Sector Six, Wall Market, 7:15 P.M.**

Zack Fair was doomed. The rising walls closing around him with neon lights flashing were distracting enough - for him anyway. There was no way he'd be able to outrun the Turks here, not unless he found some sparkly paper and a package of gummy bears in five minutes.

A hand seized him from behind a curtain of beads, drawing them into Miss Fortuna's lair of darkness.

"You want to live Fair, you will do exactly as I say."

"Sephiroth! Thank Holy." The SOLDIER in training tried to hug his superior for saving his life, but found the tip of MasaMune at his throat.

"Shut up," he pointed to the closest stall. "Follow my lead and we'll both be fine."

"But Sir, they're Turks."

Sephiroth glared, the crystal ball making his eyes radiate an evil glare. "And your point is?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "They have this cone of perpetual failure that sucks you in and doesn't let you go."

"The cone of perpetual failure is the least of our problems right now. The short one's got rabies and the vampire's got distemper."

Zack blinked and peered outside of the curtain, watching the two Turks stalk through the crowd, Rambo style.

"I always thought she was a little strange…"

"Just follow me."

**Minutes later, by a stall called Lost Socks…**

Vincent eyed the lone sock with a raised eyebrow. He'd always wondered just where those socks went when their mate divorced them. Now he knew. He scratched it off of his little list of things to learn today, ignoring his comrade's frustrated growls.

There she was, standing against the gym entrance. Long silver hair flowing with the breeze and stilettos shimmering, she beckoned with her siren call. Flaunting her curvy hips in his direction, he dropped the notebook and began walking forward - snared by 'the look'.

He reeled back as his auburn haired comrade barricaded the path with the rifle.

"Vincent, you moron, that's Sephiroth in drag! Resist the urge to go to the yaoi side!"

"I, can't, help, it. He's, too, damn, sexy."

"Vincent! Vincent!" Her comrade vanished into the shadows. "Ah Hell, I'll do this myself. Alright Fair, prepare to be robbed of all dignity as usual."

**Sector Seven, 7:30 A.M.**

Angeal sighed and rested his back against the crate. He was never going to be cool enough for fan girls like Sephiroth and Genesis. It must be the hair, he reasoned, checking his reflection once again. Sephiroth and Genesis both had sexy hair. Why couldn't he?

But he had tried everything under the sun to achieve that long, lustrous glow, only seeming to get nothing above shimmer level. It was enough to make a grown man cry.

"You know, Angeal, fan girls love men who are bold enough to take a shot," Reno coaxed, edging ever closer with the tranquilizer gun, hoping to not scare away his prey. Rude blocked the only exit of the alleyway, prepared to fire should the need arise.

Reno took a seat beside the disgruntled SOLDIER.

"Really?" he set the mirror aside as Reno worked his charm.

"Sure they do. Hell, hair ain't everything yo. Look at Rude over there. He's got girls who love to stroke that bald wonder of his. Even Tseng has a few and he never leaves the office. It's simple really. You just gotta establish your manliness. You're a SOLDIER, a big strong SOLDIER. You can have all of the fan girls you want, just let me give you your vaccinations."

For a moment Angeal seemed to perk up at the prospect. Reno smiled.

"Actually, you see this one labeled Parvo. That one attracts fan girls by the swarms. It take a few days to kick in, but once it does-" he made several hand motions. "Bam! They're everywhere, ready to straddle you and cover you with their fan girlness."

"Then let's do this!"

"Now we're talking." He gave Rude the thumbs up sign.

**Wall Market, 8:25 A.M…**

This was beyond embarrassing.

How could one simple SOLDIER manage to not only fit into the two by two crawlspace above the lone toilet in the slums, but also manage to evade every dart by using the lone roll of toilet paper as a shield - successfully? Nothing in the Turks National Handbook said anything about this sort of scenario.

"Zack, you're making a scene."

"I don't care."

"But it's just a tiny shot. It won't even hurt. I promise." She held the rifle behind her back in an effort to show she was not intending on shooting him as planned. By now, several patrons had gathered to watch

"You'll never vaccinate me alive!"

Cissnei sighed and watched the SOLDIER shimmy even deeper into the crawlspace, the shelf beneath him creaking dangerously at the motion. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She turned to the crowd of bystanders. "I need someone who ate the special with the refried beans. Bathroom's all yours."

The SOLDIER paled as the beefy man in the crimson robe sauntered in and closed the door.

**Somewhere, we're not exactly certain where, in the gym, 9:00 A.M.**

Every gender confused male, and some females spending time buffing up, or more correctly, exchanging killer recipes for casseroles at the gym, looked up in time to see Sephiroth and the charming Turk step through the doorway.

"This way hun. Would not want me to expose your little secret to the world now would you?" he lead Vincent through the maze of equipment towards the back where the mats were. Zack owed him for this. He owed him big. Seducing a Turk was not something he enjoyed, or was fashionably paid well to do. Lazard owed him a better check now too.

"Now Valentine-" The general's eyes widened, his hand reaching towards his rump where the dart remained stuck. As though he were a drunken chocobo, he staggered forward, landing with a thud upon the mat.

"That was for tempting me with your hotness for the second time!"

Several sets of eyes glowed from the shadows, slinking closer much to Sephiroth's horror.

"Valentine! I'll get you for this, Valentine!" He reached for his katana, finding only a high heeled shoe.

"What are you going to do? Lock me in a coffin?"

With the oh so cool Vincent flip of his nonexistent cape, he shouldered the rifle and stepped out of the gym, leaving the fallen general at the mercy of the fan girls.

**Back at the lone bathroom of the slums, 9:30 A.M.**

She had just finished reading an in-depth article on the fundamentals of men and beer when she heard the thump of a SOLDIER falling from the crawlspace of the bathroom. Grasping the rifle, she crouched down behind the pool table and waited for the Don to wander out of the bathroom.

Zack lay twitching on the floor of the bathroom, clawing at everyone around him and trying to regain his bearings. From the looks of things, he'd gotten the worst of it.

"How can you be so cruel?" he cried out, trying to sooth his stinging eyes.

She fired the round of vaccines at him quickly. "According to your silver haired friend, I've got rabies, remember?"

Zack flinched. "Ow! What was that one for?"

"Letting him call me short. Hey, Vincent."

Vincent eyed the SOLDIER in pity. No one should have to suffer at the hands of the youngest Turk - ever.

**Sector Five Highway, 10:00 A.M.**

"Don't let him get away! My manhood is at stake!"

Cars swerved to avoid the jeep as Reno tried to get a good shot at the renegade SOLDIER flying through the chaos of mid-morning rush hour.

"Damn it he's too damn cool with that cape thingy of his for me to get a good lock on."

"Look beyond the coolness Reno and just shoot him already! Like this!"

The jeep flattened a small minivan before Reno regained control of it. "Aw chit, Rude."

"What's wrong."

"I think I vaccinated myself by accident."

"Rookie."

Genesis cackled with glee at the Turks futile efforts to vaccinate him, turning in circles and flapping his black wing mockingly -

"Behold the barren marrow of this world losers-"

And flew right into the power lines.

Reno raised an eyebrow, watching the flaming remains of the SOLDIER's favorite copy of LOVELESS flutter to the ground. "Should we do something?"

Rude shook his head and shouldered the rifle. "Our orders were to vaccinate. Mission accomplished."

**Reeve's office, 9:18 P.M.**

He left the letter where Tseng would find it the next morning and picked up his coat - not that he would need it for the three minute trip to his apartment, but it made him feel a little bit cooler than he already was.

For the first time in ten years, Reeve Tuesti decided that he would be casually late tomorrow morning.

**--**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Something strange is happening at Shinra Electric Power Company. Be afraid, very afraid…**

**Until we meet again, **

**Sage Quill :)**


	17. Mission 17 Operation Misunderstanding

**Blah, the Muse decided she did not want to work terribly hard this week on this one. (She's excited about the upcoming weekend updates though. Heh heh heh. You'll see what I mean here soon.) Anyway, enjoy this pointless little mission where we get to pick on Tseng some more. :)**

**Mission Seventeen- Operation Misunderstanding**

The corridor to the Administrative Research Department was quiet for seven o'clock in the morning. Too quiet. As he went to start the coffee pot for his morning addiction, he noticed something strange - it was already sporting a full pot of the liquid elixir of life. And, his coffee cup was clean and waiting right beside it.

Tseng raised an eyebrow. They had either killed one another and somehow disposed of their own bodies and did their own paperwork, or the SOLDIER mission had gone a lot worse than he initially imagined and this was their way of saying sorry.

He checked the coffee pot area for any signs of boobie traps - half expecting to be forced into leaping over a trap door leading to a floor of spikes just to dodge the mighty rolling boulder unleashed from the cabinet as he opened the doors. Instead, as he cowered from the invisible boulder, only the silent rows of coffee mugs stared back at him as if to say 'Good morning you pathetic paranoid man.'

What a strange occurrence - he returned to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, using his patented poison testing kit on the liquid. Not one trace of laxatives, alcohol, poison coffee beans, spit, or other. Now he began to worry. His Turks had not made coffee since the department was founded. Why would they all of a sudden start?

He reached for his PSH, momentarily considering calling the usual suspects for answer, most notable, Reeve. Reeve would know exactly what was going on here. Then again, he sipped his coffee slowly. Where in the hell was Reeve anyway? It was 7:00 and no signs of the errant engineer.

The coffee cup fell from his hands and rolled to the heel of his shoe, drenching his lower legs as the one thought he had not considered rode double back aboard the exhausted chocobo that dwelled within his mind.

"Oh my Holy, they killed Reeve."

**Reeve's office, 7:15 A.M.**

Reno whistled as he spun the swivel chair in a circle, tossing pieces of popcorn into the crawlspace behind the file cabinets and watching the AVALANCHE operative nibble on his treat contently. "You like that yo?"

He nodded and eyed the container of popcorn in the red haired Turk's hands.

Reno shook it back and forth temptingly, the sweet aroma filling the office. "Thought so. Say, I'll give you this whole box if you'll do something for me."

Again, a nod of agreement.

Reno tossed him the box of popcorn and a small silver key. "The number of the mailbox should be on the key. Bring me anything that's in that little box, and try not to get caught."

The spinning chair came to an abrupt halt, the flamboyant red head crashing into the desk, sending a cup of pencils toppling to the floor. Several paperclips fell from his hair as he looked up at the newcomer to the office. "Morning Tseng."

"Where'd you hide the body this time? If you put it in the board room vent system again, I swear that you will do nothing but yaoi fics for the rest of your miserable little life."

Reno blinked and nervously tugged at his shirt collar. Hadn't he told Rude not to say anything to anyone about 'the incident'?

"And which one of you little murderers made coffee this morning?"

"She did." He pointed to his auburn haired comrade carrying a clipboard of papers in one hand and her usual morning cup of tea in the other. The leader of the Turks stormed out of the office to intercept he subordinate before she could run away.

The AVALANCHE operative blinked, watching Reno retrieve his PHS.

"Hey Rude-" There was a mumble on the other side of the line. "Yeah, I think he knows. Meet me at the vending machines in about a half of an hour. Tell no one."

**Cissnei's office, 7:30 A.M.**

She was slightly more confused than she wanted to admit. After all, having her superior standing in front of your desk, coffee soaking his pant legs, and it not even being eight o'clock yet was not how she anticipated starting her morning. What had the boys done this time?

"Sir? With all due respect-" She moved the teacup safely out of range of his gesturing hands. "It was established years ago that the coffee pot does not like me, nor do I like it."

"Well someone had to have done it. Now either fess up or give me a name."

"Did you try the boys? They were here early today. Or Lazard? Our supply of lavender soap is missing again."

Tseng raised an eyebrow. Now he had yet another thing to worry about today. First a suspicious pot of coffee, and now the soap was missing. Could today get any worse?

His PHS rang. "What?"

_"I assume you found the pot of coffee?"_ A sinister voice from the other line sent chills down the lead Turk's spine and made him search the office with his eyes for any sign of the threat. _"Stop looking around like I'm watching you from the bamboo plant. It makes you look gay."_

"I am not gay!" he growled, drawing his revolver and shooting the unfortunate plant from the desk.

Cissnei stared in horror, a trembling hand picking the blossoms out of her tea cup.

"I never said anything to even imply that Sir," she sadly gathered the remnants of the unfortunate plant into a pitiful pile, trying in vain to figure out what it had done to deserve assassination. "If you hated it that much, you could have just said so."

"I didn't mean-" The sinister voice prevented the elder Turk from completing his sentence.

_"I'm actually watching you from the bookshelf, top right corner."_

The miniature statue of a dancing moomba exploded, making the young Turk dive for cover as the pieces clattered across the desk. She reached for her shuriken. Had Tseng finally lost his mind?

_"I meant the left corner."_

She watched the weary chocobo that made Tseng's mind work hesitate for a moment, and then resume its obedient pace around the track it was on, catching sight of his next target.

"Tseng!" she lunged for the bookcase, the shuriken in view. "Resist the urge of whatever sick mind is on the other end of that phone! Please don't kill Mr. Feathers!"

The tiny plush chocobo erupted in a whirlwind of faux feathers and cotton, falling onto its side with a weary squeak of defeat. The female Turk dropped the shuriken. Had he just murdered Mr. Feathers right in front of her?

This was inexcusable; diabolical, terrifying, fan fiction worthy, and beyond evil. This was just plain wrong.

She left the shuriken where it had fallen and stormed out of her office, retrieving her PHS along the way.

Tseng glared at the PHS in his hands.

"What do you want from me? For the love of Holy, first you take my office and kill my ancestral bonsai. Now you have me shooting cute plush chocobos off of bookshelves! What's next? Black market fan girl pics of Valentine in the nude? Selling Reno on Ebay? Taking Rude out of the top five on my Myspace?"

_"I suggest, if you value your subordinates remaining dignity, that you do exactly as I say."_

**By the vending machines, 1****st**** floor, 8:16 A.M.**

Reno fiddled with the buttons on his blazer, shifty eyes scanning the area for any signs of life aside from the occasional flicker of someone running from elevator to elevator after realizing they forgot their wallet or other items of interest back on the top floor.

"What happened, Reno?" The balding man inquired from behind the ficus tucked in the corner.

"He knows man. He frickin found out yo!"

Rude's shades clattered to the ground, his eyes wide with surprise.

"How'd he find out? Not even Vincent and Cissnei knew what we did. And they know everything that goes on in this building."

"Someone tattled on us," he scratched his chin. "The question is who…"

Reeve Tuesti whistled as he stepped through the doors at his usual pace, a bucket of red paint in one hand and some canvas with some engineering drawings upon it in the other. With the pleasant simplicity that defined him, he retrieved his keycard and swiped it for the elevator to carry him to his office for the day to officially begin. He never saw the two Turks descend upon him until it was too late.

**The Turks Lounge, 9:00 A.M.**

Tseng paced before the two Turks with a frustrated sigh. First, the voice had messed with his coffee, and ruined a good pair of pants mind you. And then, it had forced him onto the bad side of the one Turk he still considered semi-sane, despite the fact that she continued to scowl at him from her perch upon the furthest chair she could find in the room and was no doubt plotting his demise in that twisted little mind of hers.

Lunch with Palmer was starting to sound pretty good right about now.

"So what exactly is the crisis this morning?" Vincent inquired, noticing that for the first time in twenty something years that he was the happiest one in the room. He checked his watch. The world was not supposed to end for a while yet, or at least until Sephiroth figured out how to use that shiny piece of materia he 'claimed' to have found while out walking Angeal's pet Chihuahu, Avacado, not quite realizing that it, like the other ten thousand look-alikes, was actually yet another piece of coal.

"We accomplished yesterday's mission."

Tseng nodded. "And I congratulate you. But right now, we have a crisis that threatens the company's very existence."

"AVALANCHE?" Cissnei volunteered her opinion grudgingly. The lead Turk paled, really wishing she would stop looking at him as though he were a walking target.

"Worse."

Vincent blinked. "Hojo's Myspace page?"

"Worse."

Both Turks exchanged glances. If it was worse than that, it was serious.

"Reeve's missing."

At that exact moment, the two other Turks sauntered into the room, looking every bit as sympathetic as Scarlet when she kicked puppies for fun.

"Glad you could join us murderers."

Reno smirked and nudged Rude with his elbow. "Think he'll notice?"

"Nope. Nothing overly suspicious to see here. Just two Turks casually late for a meeting as usual."

"Good."

Tseng's PHS rang yet again that morning. "For the love of Holy, what do you people want from me now?"

The voice on the other end hesitated.

_"Er, Tseng. Not to be a bother, but, have either you or your Turks seen Genesis this morning. I'm afraid he's missing."_

"Good lord who's not missing this morning? No, I have not seen your overly annoying literary sociopath adoptive thespian. You wouldn't have happened to see my plot filler NPC of a useless engineer disguised as the Head of Urban Development have you?"

_"Reeve? Heavens no. Why would someone as useless as him be on my floor?"_

"Why would someone as lame as Genesis be on mine? He probably flew into some power lines or something."

At this, Reno and Rude noticeably paled and slunk away, a fact that did not go unnoticed to their comrades as Tseng continued to yell at his phone.

"Well you need to stop stealing our soap you big mean - Hello? Don't you hang up on me Mr. High and Mighty Director of SOLDIER. I'm not done-" He threw the phone against the wall and watched it fall to the ground. "Damn dropped calls."

He turned his attention upon his Turks, still seething over his morning. "Cissnei."

"What in the hell do you want now?"

Reno raised an eyebrow. He had never heard Cissnei talk back to Tseng with such a tone before. It was kinda cool in a way. For once, he was not the one in trouble. This could work to his advantage. He only wished he had not given the last of the popcorn to the AVALANCHE member behind the file cabinets.

Vincent stopped any questions from the red haired menace with a look that said, "I'll tell you what happened later."

"Take Vincent with you and find any clues you can on Reeve's whereabouts. The moment you find something, let me know. Consider this your mission of the day. I'm going to check my mail."

He vanished into the corridor with a sigh, leaving his Turks to figure it all out.

**First floor of the Shinra Building, by the elevators 12:00 P.M.**

They had scoured the building from Reeve's office to the President's personal laundry room, finding not one sign of the missing engineer. Even Hojo had nothing to offer (like he ever did).

Vincent sighed and swiped his keycard for the elevator to move to the next floor down. Has anyone actually thought of checking Reeve's schedule to even see if he was working today? For a moment, he considered suggesting it, but then, deciding that he was happier being the less emo of the group thus far, decided to keep his mouth shut. The elevator chimed and ground to a halt, the doors flying open.

It was as if a pack of rabid fan girls had invaded and taken prisoners. Cissnei raised an eyebrow at the pieces of canvas littering the floor, unusual splotches of red spackled upon every surface. She took a hesitant step into the remnants of the first floor. Where were the secretaries? Where were the guards? More importantly, where was Reeve?

A tiny piece of plastic glinted from beneath the drawing of a train, catching her attention. Rude and Reno had really done it this time. She studied the ID card with a raised eyebrow. That was Reeve, looking as useless as he always was. She tossed the ID card to Vincent, who winced at the amount of crimson coating it.

"They slaughtered him." A small rolled up container bumped his heel. He gingerly moved it away, reading the print on the from. "We have a murder weapon. Better call Tseng with the good news."

She grimly dialed the number and looked at a drawing of flower done in crayon.

Tseng answered on the second ring. _"What now?"_

"Sir," she sighed. "We found something. It looks like Mr. Tuesti might have been murdered by a Pringles can."

--

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Why is Tseng acting so 'pleasant' about the letter Reeve left on his desk? What exactly does our friend from AVALANCHE find in mailbox 13TC? Will we ever find out what happened to Reeve? And something huge is still brewing in Shinra Headquarters.**

**Tune in next time folks for 'Operation Crayon Caper'**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	18. Mission 18 Operation Crayon Caper

**Well folks, I've already managed to scare nearly everyone with an automatic stapler, mini quiches, and who knows what else. I'm about to spoil yet another snack food and possible some fellow art supplies. Heh heh heh. Enjoy the insanity.**

**Mission Eighteen - Operation Crayon Caper**

Tseng had seen a lot in his life with the Turks. Some things good, some bad, but this, now this was just disturbing. He turned the Pringles can over in his gloved hands, studying its every curve. True, the trans fat alone had been proven as a very effective killing agent to anyone who dared eat more than a half of a can of the tasty little menaces, but then again, Palmer could eat twenty six cans in a row along with eight pounds of brick lard and a can of Crisco, and he was 'healthy' according to the company physician.

Unfortunately, Reeve had not been as fortunate. He sighed and placed the murder weapon in the plastic bag for evidence for the investigation that would never happen. Salt and Vinegar, the poor sap never stood a chance.

"Rude, would you mind writing up a report declaring Reeve Tuesti dead by high cholesterol causing snack food item?"

The bald man took the bag of evidence from his superior, albeit a little nervously. "Why can't Cissnei do it?"

"Because we are not on speaking terms right now."

"Oh?" He could not help but wonder just what his superior had done to anger the most patient and forgiving of the Turks.

"He killed Mr. Feathers." The auburn haired female Turk grumbled and collected a sample of the red, flakey liquid clinging to the surface of the elevator doors.

Tseng staggered back against the door, the Pringles can's resounding ringing still in his ears. Uttering a swear word, he looked up at the angered quiet Turk towering over him, ready to strike again. "I did not want to shoot him! I had to!"

"Yo, boss, just what did such an adorable little plushie do to you anyway yo?"

"He assassinated the bamboo plant too."

At this, Reno backed away, putting the ficus between himself and the lead Turk. Didn't Tseng know that he had damned them all by committing such a heinous crime? Gauging his route of escape, he could restrain his laughter no longer.

"You actually killed that hideous thing yo? Man you are so screwed. I wouldn't have even done something that stupid, and I hold the record for the most stupid things done in a week yo! Maybe now she'll get a cact-ow!" he rubbed the back of head where the pencil had struck with dangerous accuracy. "What was that for?"

The female Turk retrieved her pencil with a scowl. "My next desk plant will not be a cactus."

Vincent just sighed and continued to rearrange the pieces of canvas into a neat little pile. Through the hints of red substance soaking into the canvas, he could just barely make out some faint, almost nonexistent lettering, as though Reeve had written something before his death.

C.r.a.y.o.l.a.

"Tseng, I've found something - disturbing…"

Bamboo plants and plush animals aside, his fellow Turks and Tseng gathered around him to see just what the damage was.

It was Reno who spoke first. "Ain't that some sort of crayon yo?"

"You would know that better than anyone, Reno," Cissnei chided, trying to figure out just why someone with Reeve's intelligence would write the name of a crayon on such an important drawing. Then again, it was Reeve. Did they really need a reason?

"Hey, just because I keep a pack in my desk drawer-" Vincent and Tseng had their guns pointed at him in an instant.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" He staggered backwards, falling into the ficus. "I didn't kill him!"

Rude raised an eyebrow, half expecting the red head to break their vow of silence.

"Some guy named Crayola did!"

Tseng lowered his weapon a fraction of an inch and raised an eyebrow. "And who is this C_rayola _person who slays innocent engineers?"

Reno shrugged. "Dunno, but I hear he's very popular with children."

As if the leader of the Turks did not have enough to deal with, now he had to worry about an army of children being trained on how to assassinate the assassins. He turned to Cissnei with that pleading yet inquiring look of his. "You've encountered this Crayola guy before haven't you?"

"Yeah, back in grade school."

"What can you tell me about him?"

She pondered the thought for a few seconds. "Well, they come in packs of 8, 16, 24, and 96, keep children amused for hours, and promote a healthy ability to color within the lines."

Tseng dropped his weapon, accidentally shooting the ficus and barely missing Reno's leg. "Holy, this _Crayola_ as he so calls himself is Hojo, only appealing!"

He momentarily considered calling for help. Who knew just how many people he had killed so far. Reeve might not have been the first after all. "Rude, Reno, Cissnei, Vincent, I am entrusting this mission to you three because I can't find any other unfortunate fools to assign it to right now and SOLDIER is mad at me, that, and I know at least two of you know how this Crayola guy works."

"Tseng, I'm not exactly certain what you want us to do about this. I mean, Crayola is even bigger than Shinra. We're just one bald guy, one vampire, one hot stud looking to climb the manhood ladder, and one short-ow!"

"Vertically challenged," she glared as Reno rubbed his knee.

"Yeah, whatever. I don't see how we can beat something that just so damn addicting."

Tseng dragged the dying ficus closer, effectively presenting an obstacle for anyone who dared step into their 'secret' meeting space. Satisfied they would not be overheard, he produced a map of Midgar from his front pocket and handed it to Rude. "You will find a map of every elementary school we have. Start with the only place Crayola has any influence - kindergarten. Report back to me when you have accomplished your mission."

**The corridor outside of the only Kindergarten classroom in Midgar...**

They had signed in at the office as instructed by Tseng to avoid suspicion. As far as the Shinra education system was concerned, the four Turks were not there to kill anything, but instead, promoting literacy, something Midgar seriously lacked - if the misspelled graffiti on the cardboard sign claiming this building was indeed a "Skool" was any indication. That, and Reno and Rude could gain some extra community service points. A harmless mission for the betterment of all mankind. Crayola had to die.

"The Slowest Little Chocobo?" Cissnei read the title with interest. "Wasn't this book banned years ago for its ability to turn children into psychopathic homicidal maniacs once they reach adulthood?"

Reno whistled casually and studied a blob labeled house hanging upon the colorful corridor wall. "Yeah, but Genesis, Angeal, Sephiroth, and us turned out alright."

Vincent struck his palm against his forehead with a emotistic sigh. They'd turned out fine, just fine, the best homicidal lunatics Shinra could produce. For the love of Holy, they were going to assassinate a box of crayons. How lower could they get? Rude appeared to be thinking the same thing and seized the book, tearing it into a million little pieces before stomping it into the ground, lighting it with a fira, and shooting it into the colorful smiley face tiles with Vincent's gun.

"It's like LOVELESS for children," Rude crossed his arms and began walking, leaving the other Turks exchanging looks with one another.

**Kindergarten Classroom, by the tiny chairs...**

"Whoa, you know, some of this stuff would look great in your office." He barely had time to avoid the punch to his stomach from the annoyed female Turk. "Now now, do we need to put you in the time out chair?"

"Do we need to have you miss recess for starting a fight?" She countered, watching Vincent sitting crosslegged on the woven rug with the little angels seated around him, listening intently to his version of _The Slowest Little Chocobo_.

"And then the little chocobo turned around and said 'No Mr. Bald Man, I do not want to anger Mr. Foreign Man. I'll be a good little chocobo and try not to encourage Mr. and Mrs. Moomba's marital strife over furniture for their nest. Instead, I will choose to be a good chocobo and go make some tea and invite them to color with those nice, fun looking crayons on the top shelf to your right-"

The red haired Turks frantically scanned the shelf while Rude kept watch over the door. Vincent could not hold them at bay forever. Reno winced as his fingers caught the box of crayons, drawing them towards him. In a few seconds, the world would be safe once again.

And then, in a valiant show of clumsiness -

Reno dropped the crayons.

As though berserk had been cast over the ten little angels seated before Vincent, their eyes turned red, and fingers, like tiny claws, shredded the polyester carpet. Three of the bolder boys grabbed bottles of glue, while three girls fashioned Scarlet dolls into rocket propelled pencil launches. The remainder seized shoelaces and glitter, stalking towards the newcomers.

Cissnei steadily backed away, nudging the tiny footstool as a temporary barrier between herself and a mean looking little girl with pigtails. "Reno! Help!"

"I'm coming, Cissnei!" a spitball caught him in the back of the head, making him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Who knew what type of diseases he had now. He fended off a second and third with a piece of construction paper seized from the countertop. "A little faster Reno!"

"Calm down babe, we got all day." His sly grin vanished with an explosion of glitter napalm.

They were closing in fast, scaling the chairs and firing pencils at the wall behind her, chanting something about a jungle gym, grasshoppers, and fire. She closed her eyes and cowered against the bookshelf, Reno's horrific cries as he was seized and effectively glittered beyond all hope. They were doomed.

**Outside of the classroom…**

_"What's the situation Rude?"_ Tseng's weary voice appeared almost concerned over the PHS.

"We need help, now." Rude peered around the corner, barely dodging a pack of finger-paints that exploded upon impact with the wall. "Oh Holy, they've glitter Reno to the floor and are moving in on Cissnei with shoelaces and my pretty moogle stickers!"

There was an alarmed rustle on the other line, as though Tseng was frantically searching for something in a handbook. No doubt checking the situation for protocol.

_"I'm sending help immediately. Hang tight."_

**By the stackable play lego blocks…**

Vincent Valentine was a stoic man, who lead a rather depressing life, moonlighting for lunch money from Hojo on the side when he was not making a fool of himself with the Turks. He'd never done anything terribly heroic, nor memorable aside from accidentally lust after a man he thought was a woman. But now, with his comrades facing certain death by five year olds, he saw something he never considered before.

He saw an opportunity for redemption.

With the finesse of a man on a mission, he grabbed the nearest floor scooter and some of the free range crayons that had ultimately caused this whole fiasco, and propelled himself into the masses with the cry of an Amazon warrior, realizing seconds later that he needed to really change that to something more manly.

Several of the kindergartners turned upon him, shooting glue across the floor. He countered it with a piece of construction paper, rolling over it harmlessly and tossing a violet blue crayon to the side, where several of them lunged for it. A smirk crossed his face, a forest green crayon landing in the far corner.

A pathway slowly emerged, glitter swirling upon the air as the bolder ones began throwing pencil cases and legos, trying desperately to fend off the renegade Turk, who had to admit, playing on the floor scooter was actually kind of fun. He reached a hand out to the trembling, glitter covered female Turk and pulled her onto the scooter, turning towards the door.

"Hey! You can't rescue her! She's my damsel in distress!" Reno shouted and tried to untangle himself from the shoelaces. Vincent smirked.

"I believe I have outmanned you once again. Live with it."

**In the doorway, moments later…**

The unfortunate blonde infantry man had never questioned just why a Wutainese man in a blue suit had pulled him out of line and shoved a box of animal crackers into his hands, directing him to the nearest train and telling him to hurry to the steel and brick building with the bars on the windows and the landmines in the front yard. What the hell was a "Skool" anyway?

Now, as he found himself standing in the doorway, the haunting words of his buddy Zack came flying back to mind, "If you see anyone in a blue suit with a tie, male or female, run as fast as you can man, because they'll suck you into the perpetual cone of failure before you even know it. And once that happens, you're screwed for life. I mean, they'll have you doing humiliating cameos in every form of fan fiction known, and some that aren't with people you would rather not be paired with but have no choice to be anyway."

The animal crackers rattled in the box, ten tiny heads turning in his direction with those demonic grins. And, in one fluid, amazingly choreographed moment, complete with flashing summon lights and cool theme music, they swarmed.

"Holy it burns! Not there! Ah! Help! Someone!" The Turks fled, leaving the blond infantryman at the mercy of glitter wielding kindergartners swarming him for the animal crackers.

**Reeve's office, later that same day…**

"You sure you went to Mailbox 13TC yo?"

Reno continued to flip through the envelops, tossing the ones he deemed unimportant to the side. He would put them back later. What he sought now was the neatly folded blue envelop that remained last, a cute butterfly stamp resting harmlessly in the upper right hand corner and a feminine script penning out the recipient's name as though it had been done with a ruler.

With a sinister smirk, he retrieved the tiny golden letter opener from the desk drawer and carefully slid it under the seal, watching the paper within land upon the desk with an unceremonious click.

The AVALANCHE operative raised an eyebrow and watched his red haired companion carefully unfold the piece of paper, scanning the headlines. As though Sephiroth himself was standing in the doorway with the MasaMune pointed at his throat, he dropped the letter and backed away searching through the file cabinet drawers for holy water, esunaga materia, anything to quell the demonic presence within those words.

**--**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**What was written in the letter from mailbox 13TC that has Reno stalking a certain female Turk? Will we ever see Reeve again? And why is Tseng making them all get updated passports?**

**Tune in for more crazy adventures folks. You know you're curious.**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill**


	19. Mission 19 Operation Passport

**Folks, this is one of those rushed, quick filler missions, just to warn you ahead of time. The big mission is the one that follows this one. Look for it either late tomorrow or Monday in honor of Father's day. Enjoy. :)**

**Mission Nineteen - Operation Passport**

Tseng had seen less glitter at the local art depot than what was scattered across the Department of Administrative Research corridor, the Turk's lounge, and three of his subordinates' offices. He knelt down and swept a finger across the floor, catching the light at the right angle. Periwinkle blue and neon pink. Not even Lazard and his boys could have matched better colors.

The trail of glittery footprints circled several times along the corridor and up across the light fixtures once, making him raise an eyebrow. Which one of the loveable little failures had done that? More importantly, how? He clutched the letter from his 'Inbox' tighter and cautiously studied the glitter coated desk and what appeared to be the remnants of a bean burrito wrapper. It was quiet with Reeve gone. And for a brief moment, the faintest hint of guilt almost tinged his soul at taking over the office as his own. Almost.

He took another sip of his coffee and moved on to the break room, following the trail of glitter closer. The trail of glitter across the ceiling was here too. Odd. No human could have done that. Then again, he wasn't sure exact what his Turks were to begin with. He eased the door open, expecting the catastrophe to blindside him as usual.

Reno sat alone, chin propped upon the back of the couch, blazer surprisingly glitter free and tapping his fingers lazily against the leather surface. The leader of the Turks did a quick sweep of the place. Nope, only the red head male Turk was here today, and, dare he even think it, he looked sort of upset about something.

What was in that burrito?

"Reno?" he dared make a venture, watching the red head's shoulders slump with a sigh. He tucked the letter away in his pocket and set the coffee cup down. The red head must really not be feeling well if all he could do was sigh and not even look towards his superior with a well timed insult. "What's wrong?"

He looked up from the couch with a halfhearted look, as though he had been crying over something. "It's Cissnei yo."

Tseng raised an eyebrow in surprise. Great, now he had a second one to worry about today. If Reno was this depressed it meant one of two things usually. The first, that someone had died. He scratched that off his list. He'd seen the female Turk earlier, trying to retrieve her mail from the topmost mailbox and uttering a barrage of threats at it.

The second - well, he wasn't quite certain exactly what the second was, unless someone had tried to neuter him, or already made the appointment. That was a subject he did not wish to breach before 8:00 a.m.

"Oh? And what did she do to you now?"

As far as he knew, the only item on Cissnei's list of potential things to assassinate this morning was her mailbox. Tseng once again found himself at the mercy of Reno tugging frantically on his blazer, that wild, panicked look in his eyes.

"She's one of _them_!"

The elder Turk, for a moment, was glad he had chosen to set the coffee cup aside as he tried to pry the panicking male off of him. "Calm down. What exactly happened?"

He ran the options through his mind with the practiced calmness of an insane man. There were no signs of being attacked by the shuriken wielding Amazon that he could see. And if his records were correct, neither red heads had even spoken to one another since the incident involving the crayons. The fact that Reno was this worked up was confusing. He had to stop watching those detective shows on the late night channel.

"Holy Tseng it's terrible yo! She's -she's one of _them_! You know, _them_!"

Oh, so Reno had learned a terrible fact of life. And here he thought it would be something interesting.

"Yes Reno," he replied, a little less concerned. "She is a woman."

Reno proceeded to clutch the blazer a bit more forcefully, nearly knocking the elder Turk over. "I know that yo, but she's turned into one of them!"

Now Tseng was really confused. What exactly had his youngest Turk turned into to make Reno so upset? Toad? No, not her favorite animal. Imp? Again a bad idea. She was allergic to them. Moomba? Possibly, but unlikely.

Still, the glitter on the ceiling…And there was a well defined trail leading in a circle around her office. And since Reno had no telltale signs of the stuff all over him…She had looked human enough this morning, but then again, there was always that distant fourth option he himself dared not to venture into.

He casually picked Reno's hand from his uniform and placed both hands upon the younger Turk's shoulders. "Reno, my adopted excuse for a son. For a certain amount of days each month women _do _turn into Bahamut and _will _try to send you to the Promised Land unless you bring large offerings of chocolate and deep fried foods."

"This is worse yo!"

"Oh?" What could possibly be worse than that, he wondered.

A piece of paper was thrust into his face, making him stagger backwards and trip over the coffee table as he tried to read it, only catching a brief glimpse of what it contained.

"Look, if you are this concerned about her, why don't you just ask her about it? I'm sure she will be happy to-"

"This is a crisis! The entire world is doomed! Doomed, Tseng!" He began to run in a circle, eventually tripping over a chair and falling to the ground, only to curl into a fetal position, trembling. Tseng reread the piece of paper.

If she hadn't killed Reno yet, than once she found out he had stolen and read her mail she was certainly going to.

"Okay, okay. I'll help you. But only because if I don't, you'll make the insurance premiums rise again and probably make me use my vacation time trying to explain to the board just why you are in the hospital with a shuriken stuck somewhere it should not be. Here's what you do-"

**The Shinra Post Office…**

Rude casually rested an arm against the countertop, watching the generic mail clerk flip through her files. Brown shorts and a polo knit shirt. Not someone he wanted to mess with today.

"Name please?"

"Rude," he replied.

"Your name, Sir," she repeated, a bit more forceful than before.

The bald man adjusted his sunglasses and straightened his tie, watching the sorting board against the wall hum as the letters parted on their way. "It's Rude."

"No, all I asked for was your name. That is not rude, Sir."

"It really is Rude," he removed his sunglasses with a flustered sigh, trying to convince the irritated mail clerk that he was who he was.

"It is not!" The stack of papers and the clipboard struck the surface of the counter, raging fire in her eyes. He took a frightened step in reverse, lest he be hog tied with package tape and plastered with Elvis stamps only to be shipped to somewhere where bald men were treated like lab mice and used in body hair growth research. They would not be stealing his chest hair for some other bald man's conquest in this lifetime. He would make certain of that.

"Morning, Rude."

The mail clerk raised an eyebrow at the auburn haired female Turk trying to sort through several forms of ID and a seventeen page application.

"I am not rude!"

"I wasn't talking to you," she gestured to her comrade. "I was talking to him."

"He certainly is."

The man identified as Rude smiled and pushed his application forward. "Thank you. Now please stamp this."

"Can I have your name, Sir?"

There was the rip of navy blue fabric, followed by the roar of what sounded like Bahamut Fury. Cissnei barely managed to dodge the bulletin board of commemorative SOLDIER stamps as they tumbled to the ground around her, her companion shouting obscenities at the unfortunate mail clerk behind the desk.

**From an overturned cardboard box by the door…**

Reno dropped the binoculars in disbelief, watching the auburn haired female trying to fend off the sheets of stamps insistent on attacking her with their oh so cool collectability. This was not cool. He stood up, his head colliding with the table reserved for filling out last minute address labels.

No piece of stickable 43 cent collectable paper was going to hold his woman hostage. Not while he was around. He grabbed a box and quickly fashioned it into a cardboard armor suit, clicking the button on the EMR to extend it to its full range. Sparks danced along the air as he left out a war cry and rushed to his comrade's aid.

**Back with the stamps…**

She wasn't certain who to be more afraid of, the bald man towering above the stoic mail clerk with a strange green glow to his skin, or the idiot rushing towards her wearing a cardboard box for pants. And she thought Vincent's alter ego was strange…

The sparks at the end of the EMR caught her attention immediately as they filled the air with the crackle of electricity, scattering in a cloud of disaster waiting to happen. A light trail of smoke rose from behind the over-heroic male Turk.

"Reno!" she warned, shielding her passport renewal form from the impending disaster known as the male Turk on a mission. "Stop!"

He didn't, instead shouting death cries at the stamps sitting motionlessly back upon the bulletin board as though nothing had even happened. The smoke increased, making even Rude raise an eyebrow at the flames erupting from what appeared to be his comrade's pants.

Cissnei groaned with embarrassment, watching as Reno hopped on one foot and tried to put the fire out, the sparks catching nearby packages on fire. Just how was she going to explain this to Tseng?

The sprinklers erupted in a deluge of water.

**Reeve's Office, 4:00 P.M.**

Tseng took stock of the four people standing before the desk with a weary sigh. Not only had they managed to burn down most of the Shinra post office with a flaming book of stamps, but they had also managed to get themselves banned from the postal service all together. He added a few more numbers to his Sudoku puzzle with a sigh.

For once, he was not terribly upset about this. It wasn't like _he _was banned from the post office. Still, his eyes roved over the disgruntled figure of Cissnei, water still dripping from her hair and glaring at Reno, who had managed to wrap a towel around his waist as a quick replacement for his scorched pants. And then there was Rude. How he had managed to split his jacket into several shreds and tear his shirt was still a mystery to the elder Turk, but, he could only assume it had something to do with Reno. The only healthy looking one of the group was the stoic Turk standing by the ficus, apparently trying to figure everything out for himself.

Who knew getting a passport stamped could turn into such a fiasco?

"I don't want to know," was all the lead Turk said, not even looking up again. "Tomorrow morning, I expect the four of you here, at this office, packed and ready to go by 5:00. I will inform you of the details then. And for the love of Holy, please try not to cause any more problems tonight. Reno, get a new pair of pants. Cissnei, lock you door and close your blinds to keep Reno out. Rude, keep both of them separated. Vincent, help Rude find a tailor to repair his jacket. That is all. You are dismissed."

Oh how he missed Reeve at times like these. He turned to the AVALANCHE operative watching the spectacle like a little Cheshire cat and offered him a page from the Sudoku book. "You want easy, medium, or satanic? It is going to be a long night."

**--**

**On the Next Episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

"**Are we there yet?"**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	20. Special Operation Rain Dance

**Hi there folks, I'm very proud to present to you this Special Operation in honor of Father's Day! Whoot! Actually finished it on time! Yea! Anyway, I would like to apologize for the spelling errors in the last mission.**

**Tseng: She was too lazy to spell check properly.**

**Hey! The spell check said everything was okay!**

**Tseng: You can't read then.**

**Vincent! Reeve! Do something about him before I do! Anyway, while I go torment Tseng for his comment, enjoy this special mission and don't forget to say Happy Father's day to all of the Daddies out there! **

**Special Operation Rain Dance**

"Are we there yet?"

Tseng, for the first time since leaving home to become the Turk he was, had a migraine no amount of aspirin was going to fix. Gripping the ancient steering wheel of the old rust colored station wagon, he maneuvered the vehicle over another pot hole and through a puddle of water, chancing a look in the rear view mirror.

"Could you silence him again, please?" He practically begged, watching the auburn haired female Turk cover her eyes with her arm and sit deeper into the uncomfortable seat with a weary sigh.

"Can't," she mumbled, a little hesitant. "Not enough MP left."

The lead Turk sighed, exchanging a look with Vincent, who seemed equally as miserable as he watched the windshield wipers rock back and forth, threatening to spin off into the vast open space of the countryside whisking by. This was the longest three hours of his life, and Reno was not helping matters any as he reached across Rude to poke Cissnei with the edge of his EMR.

"What's the matter there 'Nei? You look a little under the weather."

"Stop it, Reno." She continued to keep her eyes covered with her blazer sleeve and swat his weapon away.

"Heh heh. It's funny how you can drive a motorcycle 110 miles per hour through Midgar's busiest highways, fly a helicopter, and ride a chocobo hell bent for leather cross country, but the moment you get into a car, you get motion sick."

"Boats," she mumbled and leaned against Rude's shoulder. "I don't like boats either."

Reno proceeded to poke her again with the EMR, a motion that did not go undetected to the Turk behind the wheel.

"Rude, could you kindly assassinate Reno for me. He's going to make the situation even worse than it already is. I'll even let you put the body in the trunk so you have more leg room back there."

At this, even Vincent could not help but stare. Tseng had issued a lot of orders over his career, but not once did they involve Reno's untimely death. This could get interesting. Rude arched an eyebrow, his mind venturing into that forbidden territory on just how he was going to do it with minimal mess, and without making the other red head even more miserable than she already was.

"I'll use a phoenix down later. Just do it before I do." The station wagon jounced wildly over a trench in the road, making him swear under his breath. The man at the rental station had said nothing about the roads being this bad when he had asked for the quickest route to Wutai.

"What if he somehow mysteriously uses some sort of Gameshark code to revive himself while he's in there and begins kicking the seat?"

"Then kick him back."

"But-"

Tseng turned to Vincent and turned down another country road. "I'll give you all of Reno's wages for the next three weeks-"

"Hey!"

"And, if you keep him quiet until we get to where we're going, I'll put you back in my top five on Myspace."

Vincent smirked. Tseng really was desperate.

Rude glared. "But that means-"

Tseng's hazel eyes remained stern in the mirror. "Yes Rude, I'm kicking you out of my top five. Have fun being number six."

"Sorry, Reno," Vincent leaned over the seat, Death Penalty drawn. "No hard feelings right?"

"You emotistic, vampiric bastard! You can't kill me, I'm a cannon character!"

"Was a cannon character," Vincent corrected. "That spot on Tseng's top five is mine."

"Tseng! You can't really mean this right? I mean, look, you're taking the coolest character out of your top five for emo-man. Can't you just get rid of Palmer, Heidegger, Shinra, Rufus, or Reeve? I mean, Reeve's dead. He's not going to miss being number one on your list-" Rude protested, trying to prevent Reno from burrowing under his arm and behind the seat.

Tseng sighed. They did not pay him enough for this. He slammed on the brake, the station wagon sliding to a halt and pointed to the three males.

"You three, will be walking the rest of the way if you cannot behave. Do not make me have to stop this car again. Vincent, put your wig on and magically turn into my make believe wife. Reno, stop pestering your sister. And Rude, one more word about my Myspace top five and I'm going to put Hojo in your spot, maybe even Scarlet, Lazard, or that cute secretary on floor AB. Anyone but another Turk. Being there is a privilege, not a right. Understood?"

He got three yeses and a halfhearted attempt at agreement.

"I thought so." He eased the car back onto the road.

"Are we there yet?"

And sighed.

**Two and a half hours later…**

The station wagon ground to a halt in front of the broken fence separating the rice fields stretching for miles to the north and in the strange image of a peace sign to the west. He sighed. Nothing had changed in more than sixteen years. He put the vehicle in park and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

"Unfortunately, we're here."

Reno crawled over Rude and Cissnei for a better view, wrinkling his nose at the leaning pagoda decorated in black and white paint. A tiny wind chime with penguins chirped as the wind brushed it back and forth against the porch, the screen door squeaking in response.

"It's a big pointy triangle house. Big deal. Can we go home now?"

"Vincent, the offer is still on the table."

The familiar click of the Death Penalty filled the air as the screen door flew open with the force of a cyclone.

There, standing in the door, wearing the most hideous kimono imaginable, was none other than Mama Tseng, cane in hand and a look of murder upon her face. "You're late, Songbird."

Tseng sighed. "We're five minutes early, mother."

"Don't take that tone with me young man!" The cane struck him between the eyes, making Vincent shy away and readjust his crimson wig. For a woman of her build and age, she had phenomenal aim.

"You're father has some choice words for you." She turned and marched back into the house, leaving the unfortunate leader of the Turks to ponder his next move. Why did he want to do this again?

Reno said it first. "Man, you never said we were visiting her yo."

Tseng leaned over the seat with a sigh. "It was either visit them or you three living in my apartment for another week. Last time you managed to break the toilet."

"That was actually Rude," Vincent smirked, watching the bald man scowl.

"Stupid little handle thing was too fragile."

"Enough about my toilet flusher! Just get out of the car, act something reasonably close to your age, not your shoe size, and try not to kill anyone." He tried to remember if he was forgetting anything. Deciding he wasn't, for now, he eased the door open and stepped right into a mud puddle, effectively soaking his lower legs. "Son of a-"

"You come back, work on fish farm after many year."

Tseng paled, the mud puddle the least of his problems.

"No, I have not come back to work on the fish farm," he corrected, trying to shake the mud from his pant legs.

Vincent could not help but stare at the squat man, much shorter and thinner than Mama Tseng, gray hair up in a pony tail, and lavender kimono burying his form like an oversized blanket. His beard moved with the wind, resembling something more along the lines of the Chocobo Sage than anything else. How had two very different people managed to produce something like Tseng?

"You work on fish farm. Make family proud. Why you shave beard? Tuti family always have beard. Yet you shave yours. Shame." Tseng barely dodged a rock as it bounced off of the roof of the car.

"My job required it, Father," he tried to salvage what little dignity he had.

The older man, effectively dubbed 'Papa Tseng' stepped closer to the station wagon and tapped the wheel with his foot. "You drive gay car. Gay like songbird. Where this wife of yours?"

Vincent stepped out of the car with a sigh. "That would be me. Name's Vikki."

"Wife? You look like man."

For once, Vincent actually felt offended by the old man's words. He had worked hard to get this figure and did some things he was not proud of on the SOLDIER floor…

"Well you look like-"

"That's enough, Vikki," Tseng held up a hand for silence. "Dad, I would like you to meet my wife. Vikki, meet my honorable father."

"You still look like man." He pointed to the three in the back seat. "Who these clowns?"

"That would be my two children and their body guard. Kids, say hello to your grandfather."

Reno waved casually. "Hey pops."

"Ha ha, you rude."

Rude sighed, evading the mud puddle and helping a rather terrified looking Cissnei around it. Why couldn't his parents have called him something like George, or Bob? "I'm Rude."'

"You fat and bald. Who woman who dress like man?" He pointed to the female Turk.

Tseng sighed. "That's my daughter."

"You have daughter? She no look like you. Look old enough visit matchmaker, find good husband, have little Wutainese babies for rest of life."

Reno could not help but laugh at the horrified look upon his comrade's face. He nudged her with his elbow. "Got something to look forward to now eh Mama Cissnei?"

She elbowed him in the stomach. "I strongly recommend shutting up, captain of the Midgarian Gymnastics Team."

Papa Tseng raised an eyebrow and studied Reno. "He captain of gymnastics team? He look like retarded beanpole."

Tseng's shoulders drooped as the rain began to fall again. "Father, it's starting to rain. Can we go inside now?"

The older man glared at his son. "We dance naked in rain to praise Leviathan. You no exception."

Vincent paled and slunk under a tall willow tree, praying for a random lightning bolt to strike him. He could tell Tseng was thinking the same thing by the worried look upon his face. How were they going to pull this one off?

"Um, dad, no offense, but-"

"Naked. Dusk. All of you. Praise Leviathan for rain!"

"Okay, okay, we'll all get naked and dance in the rain, once we get settled in for the next few days." He shot 'Vikki' a look that said they would work something out later.

"That more like Tuti honor. Come, you see Koi Pond. Feed fish. Make self useful while here." Papa Tseng stormed off at a proud march towards the pagoda, leaving his son to deal with the four individuals known as his 'family'.

**A half of an hour later, by the Koi Pond…**

The fish's bulging, pleading eyes stared into her amber ones, begging her for freedom. Sunlight shimmered across its silver and gold scales, its tail half heartedly slapping back and forth, proceeding to stain the sleeve of her suit with the residue coating its body.

Mama Tseng handed a sharp filleting knife to the young Turk and pointed to a flat, sun warmed stone. "Chop its head off. It will stop wriggling in a minute."

Cissnei paled, the fish's eyes once again pleading for her not to make it part of tonight's meal.

"I-I can't do this!" she looked away from the fish in shame. "It doesn't want to die."

At this, Mama Tseng brandished the knife threateningly. "It is a swimming meal. It does too want to die."

She had to think of something fast, or else she was going to end up murdering a fish in cold blood. "What if it's a magic fish? You know, the reincarnation of Leviathan?"

_Come on you stupid fish_, she mentally pleaded. _Do something godly_. It pathetically slapped its tail back and forth.

Mama Tseng raised an eyebrow. "That is not Leviathan. That is a koi ready to be eaten. Now fillet the damn thing."

Once again, Cissnei held the fish protectively away from Mama Tseng's reach. "I'm not filleting anything! It's too cute."

Immediately, she realized she had said the wrong thing.

Mama Tseng's eyes turned to molten fire and she appeared to grow ten feet taller, towering over the shorter Turk like a fire breathing incarnation of Bahamut and Ifrit's offspring.

**By the well…**

Vincent glared at Tseng and Papa Tseng as they walked amongst the koi ponds, one belittling the other, and one trying to explain why he had 'married' Vikki and chose her to be the mother of his 'offspring'. So far, Tseng appeared to actually be losing this battle.

Reno draped his arms over the well, watching the rain fall in torrents along the rice fields.

"How in the hell am I supposed to dance naked in the rain and still be a woman?" the stoic Turk sighed.

Reno shrugged. "Dunno. Botox maybe?"

"I need to not appear to be male Reno, not smooth out wrinkles."

"Why don't you call your boyfriend? He might know something."

"Sephiroth is not my boyfriend!"

"Then ask your 'daughter' she might have an idea."

"You're just sick, Reno."

"Heh, you asked me first."

There was a scream, followed by the sound of splintering wood and a splash from the furthest Koi pond, making Vincent look up in surprise. Even Tseng appeared to be startled by the terrified younger Turk vaulting over the stone wall without any problems, her suit soaked with pond water, and looking every bit as terrified as an unfortunate deer caught in the headlights.

"You get back here this instant young lady!" Mama Tseng followed her over the wall with agility that put anything in SOLDIER to shame. "You will chop the head off of this fish and you will like it!"

"Never!" she frantically searched for a method of escape, finding precious few options.

Tseng shot Vincent a glance, as if to say, "If you do not take advantage of this now, you are an idiot."

He casually put his leg out as she rounded the well at full gallop.

Cissnei stared up in panic as she frantically tried to regain her footing and pry herself out of the mud puddle she had landed in. The fish and knife wielding Mama Tseng was gaining fast, too fast. In less than a few seconds, it would all be over, she tried to convince herself. Just a few seconds and you'll have every reason to murder Tseng.

A 'woman' in the not-so-form fitting red dress stepped in front of her, stern glare behind those crimson eyes. For a moment, she wondered if the stoic Turk was going to morph back into Chaos and give Tseng's mother the mother of all wedgies. It certainly appeared that way.

Mama Tseng slowed to a halt, brandishing the filleting knife and the terrified koi at 'Vikki'. "Out of my way, wife of Songbird."

Reno smirked. Vincent was about to be harassed by an old woman. Even Tseng and his father watched the spectacle.

"No," he replied.

No one stood up to Mama Tseng and lived to tell the tale. No one.

"Oh, how dare you disrespect your elders!" the cane struck his knee, making him flinch. "You get out of my way right now."

"She's my daughter!" Vincent protested in his most feminine tone of voice. "I should be the one to teach her about her womanly duties."

Reno had to fight hard to control himself. What did Vincent know about womanly duties anyway?

"Isn't that right Cissnei?"

"Y-yes. Mom should be teaching me this kind of stuff." Something about calling Vincent 'mom' just felt wrong.

"Hmph. Apparently you need more than your mother's help. I'll schedule an appointment with Master Yeng for tomorrow morning."

Cissnei paled. "Um, Mrs. Tuti, I don't think that's entirely neces-"

The cane caught her knee with a resounding crack. "You will go to the matchmaker and you will like it. He will train you to be the proper lady your mother and father did not."

Vincent seized the opportunity in his favor. "Then I shall have to groom her in preparation to meet with Master Yeng."

"You had better. Master Yeng does not like pants."

Tseng had never seen one of his Turks look so pale.

**The bathhouse…**

Tseng eased himself into the hot springs with a sigh, watching the native fish dart around the colorful rocks as though being naturally boiled did not seem to bother them in the least. This was the life. No Turks to worry about. No idiots to take orders from. No boring reports to write. Just the hot springs and a bunch of fish. He could get used to this.

"You pick lousy wife."

And one stingy old man who constantly felt compelled to belittle his son over his choice of women.

"She's the best Midgar had to offer." He could not believe this, he was defending a woman who was not really a woman. What had he done to fall this low?

"She not even Wutainese."

"Your point?"

"All woman need be Wutainese. Thighs of steel, very strong. Gut fish with no complaints. Excellent cooks. Daughter no good at anything."

He rubbed his forehead. "Cissnei's got her own special charm."

"She need extra work from matchmaker. Say koi fish cute, not kill as ordered. What you teach her? Animals food, not pets. You horrible father."

Tseng bristled at the comment. How dare his own father accuse him of being a horrible 'father'.

"For your information dad, I think they turned out perfectly fine."

"They not good children. And bald one just creep me out."

Rude sighed from the far corner of the hot spring. Why did everyone have to pick on him because he had no hair?

"Look, I know they don't meet your 'standards' but, _you _invited _me _back here," the lead Turk reminded the older man.

Papa Tseng snarled at the words. "I expect good family. Proud family. Like brother Godo. He make something of himself. You no make anything of yourself other than fool. You suck as son. You suck as father. You look like penguin when you show up here."

Tseng wasn't sure whether to be proud or offended by the accusation.

Reno scowled and tied his kimono tighter, trying to prevent it from falling off. Just how did anyone manage to move in these things anyway, especially when soaked from dancing naked in the rain. He envied Vincent. Lucky bastard was off in town trying to convince Cissnei that the world was not ending because she was being sent to town to be turned into a 'proper' lady by someone who does not wear pants.

He grumbled under his breath and stepped between the wooden poles towards the hot springs. Maybe Rude would say something to make the day better, that, or maybe accompany him to the local bar for a good drink if Tseng didn't already have dibs on that.

Reno did a double take at the long haired person seated across from Papa Tseng, submerged up to their neck in the steamy water. He scowled. What the heck? A woman in the man's bath? Either Vincent had grown his hair significantly longer in an hour and was not where he said he was going to be, or that oddly attractive person was -

"Glad you could join us, Reno."

Tseng blinked, watching the terrified red head turn and flee from the bath as though it was filled with venomous snakes and fan girls.

"What wrong with bean pole son?"

"I don't even want to know."

**Meanwhile, back in Midgar…**

"No sir," the receptionist continued to click through the files. "It says here that no one by that name exists. Are you sure you're not a terrorist?"

"Terrorist? No, I'm the Head of Urban Development!"

"And I'm sleeping with Sephiroth. There is no living person by that name employed here. I'm sorry."

He tapped fingers against the countertop. Where had he put that keycard again? He could have sworn he had it the other day.

"Are you sure? I mean, just the other day I tried to use the elevator and my card was with me-"

"No card, no ID, no proof, no pass. You should have thought of that before you died, Sir."

"Died? Wait a second-"

"Says here the guy you claim to be was murdered in this very lobby by a salt and vinegar Pringles can. No prior family history of being the target of snack food attacks. Sorry buddy, but this screen says your dead, that means you're dead. Nothing I can do about it."

Reeve Tuesti sat upon the steps of the Shinra building with a sigh, the rain drenching his jacket. What was he going to do now?

**--**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Tseng's trip the Wutai continues with…a trip to the matchmaker…**

**Set your DVR, Tivo, whatever the heck you call it. You don't wanna miss this one folks!**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	21. Mission 21 Operation Matchmaker

**Well folks, you've been waiting semi-patiently for it. Here is the Matchmaker Mission. :) Hopefully, it will be worth the wait. Enjoy. **

**Mission Twenty One - Operation Matchmaker**

Tseng almost felt pity for the young Turk currently pacing around the enclosure. She'd been pacing in that same circle for more than three hours, stopping only to give the bars a swift kick and attempt to reach the lever only twelve miserable inches out of reach. A distant part of him half expected her to begin chewing on the bars out of desperation.

"Is the cage really necessary?" she whined, once again resuming her search for a method of escape. "I mean, all I did was go for a nice walk through the water gardens."

The coffee burned as he spit it out in disbelief. "You tried to pole vault over the twelve foot tall ancestral gates with a makeshift bamboo stave, and actually succeeded. That is not a 'little' walk, Cissnei."

She crossed her arms and sat down in a corner, back towards her superior officer. "And I would have gotten away had she not been waiting with a lasso on the other side."

"I warned you," he remarked. "No one escapes from my mother. She found me in Midgar of all places after sixteen years when the rest of my Turks couldn't. It's like she is moonlighting as a Turk herself."

Both Cissnei and Tseng looked at one another in horror, arriving at the same conclusion. The idea of Mama Tseng as an honorary Turk was just disturbing…

"Sir, permission to speak semi freely?"

"Denied."

Cissnei sighed and returned to her corner to brood. "I am so not voting you as best boss in Shinra this year."

**Four hours later…**

Vincent wrinkled his nose at the cup of fowl liquid clutched in his hands. How did any humans manage to drink this stuff on a daily basis? He sniffed the bitter fumes wafting from the surface of the cup and turned to the pieces of raw fish arranged in a mini smiley face across the bowl of rice.

Working for Hojo had its perks sometimes. At least the mad scientist was insane enough to provide pink frosted donuts and straight black coffee. So he had to endure a few hours of excruciating pain to get one of them. It was well worth it in the long run. He looked towards Tseng, who poked at a piece of sushi as though it might have still been swimming. No wonder the poor guy had moved to Midgar.

"Yo, boss," Reno held up a piece of sushi precariously balanced between two chopsticks. "What the hell is this supposed to be? Some sort of goldfish?"

"You were expecting bacon and eggs?"

Rude eased himself away from his red haired comrade, as though sensing the hostility brewing from the other side of the table.

"Hell yeah!"

At the mention of the very thought, Papa Tseng stood up and stormed across the table in his bare feet, kicking over a teapot and coating the unfortunate female Turk who scrambled to salvage her cup of tea, in rice, green tea, and raw fish. She glared towards her comrades, and for a moment, Tseng found himself grateful that he had seized her shuriken and materia before he had let her out of her cage. If any of his Turks survived this mission with a hint of sanity left, it was going to be a long ride home.

Leviathan help them all…

"Beanpole boy rude! No respect for elder. Fish die valiant death for honor to be your breakfast! You show respect to fish!" Reno yelped as the older man struck him in the face with a wrinkled foot. "You bow down, give thanks to Leviathan now!"

"Whoa there buddy. I didn't mean-" Another strike, this time from a very irritated cane wielding Mama Tseng who managed to refill a trembling Cissnei's tea cup at the same time.

Papa Tseng continued to yell. "Beanpole son need discipline! Lots of discipline! He spend day with me, bald man, and irresponsible father. We teach proper behavior. Go to Ancestral Dai Chao Mountain. Pray Leviathan eat him. Make him new man."

At this, Vincent raised an eyebrow and looked down at his tea. Had Papa Tseng just suggested sacrificing Reno to the water god? He needed to stop overhearing things. He paused, foul tasting, yet strangely addicting tea at his lips. They hadn't mentioned him in their conversation yet. He could only imagine what today held in store for him.

"You, manly woman, get your things. We have an 8 o'clock meeting with Master Yeng to attend."

"My name is Vikki," he shuddered at how well he said it. Oh how the great Vincent Valentine had fallen. Comfortable enough to admit being a 'woman' of all things. He shook his head and set the teacup down.

"Whatever you say. You," Mama Tseng pointed to Cissnei, who cowered in terror. "Get dressed for Master Yeng. He will turn your into respectable proper lady by sundown."

With a grudging sigh, the youngest Turk trudged off to her room, muttering a slew of threats towards Tseng for putting her in this position to begin with.

Vincent leaned closer to the man he called his superior officer. "You want to be buried in Wutai or Midgar?"

For a moment, Tseng considered offering to take Reno's place as Leviathan's unappetizing dinner. He hadn't considered needing a restraining order against his own Turks.

**The Matchmaker's Lair...**

Vincent Valentine had seen some disturbing oddities in his life, most located in the Turk's lounge and a select few involving the excuse for a men's room by Hojo's laboratory. But this was one of those things he wished he had a cell phone for. If anything, just to capture a brief fifteen second clip to sell to some media cooperation for millions, or, if that failed, to be featured under the Youtube promoted video section for a day. Either way would have been fine with him.

He leaned against the spiraling column of the pagoda, watching the closest thing to a legal chocobo fight he was ever going to find for free.

His money was on the red head.

"That only 89 degree angle!" the cane collided against the copper teakettle with a resounding chime heard the entire way to Lord Godo's house. "You pour tea at 90 degree angle!"

Mama Tseng stood like a proud mother chocobo watching her fledging leave the nest. Only, instead of spreading her wings and flying away as anticipated, the unfortunate chicobo in question was trying in vain to use a teakettle as an effective shield.

Vincent had to give the younger Turk credit. She was making damn good use of what she had to work with.

"Eight nine? Eighty nine! You stupid girl!" Cissnei barely managed to sidestep the table in the cumbersome violet kimono as the shorter, spry man wearing boxer shorts depicting the Midgar Zoloms's infamous logo across the rear hopped about like an irritated moogle, beard whipping in the wind and sunglasses catching the Wutainese morning sun.

Vincent did a double take at the brewing hostility between student and master. Either Rude had shrunk to a four foot tall midget with a beard, or Cissnei had grown six inches taller.

"How you impress man when you no learn how pour proper cup of tea?" She dodged behind the nearest bamboo plant, quivering like a frightened moomba.

"Master Yeng, I highly doubt my ability to pour a cup of tea has anything to do with-" The cane struck the bamboo venomously, trying to scare her out into the open.

"You suck as woman. You act more like man. You no even pour tea right! What they teach you at academy that no exist? How be manwhore?"

The stoic Turk silently bid his comrade to stay hiding in the bamboo plants moreso for Master Yeng's safety than her own. Who knew what damage a teakettle wielding Turk in a kimono could do?

Mama Tseng, however felt differently; stalking towards the bamboo plant, reached in with a glare and dragged the unfortunate Turk back into the open, disarming her of the teakettle. With a whimper, Cissnei found herself standing before the Matchmaker once more.

"So you no know how pour tea. Big deal. Maybe man no like tea. It impossible, but you unlucky as is. You date at hobo level now. We find you nice upstanding hobo with big cardboard house. You build on as family grow." He paced back and forth. "Now we learn proper walk to attract upscale hobo. You walk good, he have second story box house. Walk! Now!"

Cissnei grudgingly stepped across the cobblestone garden to avoid the cane. So she wasn't going to do much better than attract Reno anyway. Why were they even bothering? After a few strides, the crotchety old man threw the cane at her.

"Stop stop stop. You walk like being stalked by confused male."

"He's a hobo for Holy's sake! How can he not be confused!" she spat, making Vincent raise an eyebrow. She did have a point there. Master Yeng walked over to his receptionist and whispered something to her. She handed him what looked like a bundle of cloth.

"You need walk like carry child for nine months many times. Man like experience. Here," he handed her the screaming infant. "You carry baby until you learn walk like experienced woman."

She paled, the infant poking her in the eye as it screamed. Turks did not make good parents.

Yep, Vincent thought to himself. Definitely buying a cell phone with camera and internet functions.

"Sir-"

The cane caught her in the knee, making her stumble and frantically clutch the baby tighter to prevent herself from dropping it.

"You address me as Master Yeng. You name suck. Need better one. Call you Firecracker or Cricket. You look like bug."

"I do not!"

"You be quiet, Cricket. Learn how walk like experienced woman! Now!"

Grumbling, she tried to figure out just how to walk in both a kimono and carry an infant as directed, earning yet another strike of the cane.

"That not it! You stupid Cricket! She show you how walk like experienced woman!" He pointed to Mama Tseng, who stepped forward at a slightly hunched, odd waddle that made Vincent raise an eyebrow. Cissnei, walking like Mama Tseng? He didn't wish that hell upon anyone.

"Master Yeng," she sighed. "I'm not ready to be married. I want a career over kids-"

It was a heck of a lot safer that way, Vincent reasoned, the sound of the cane cracking the cobblestone by her bare feet making him wince. Something told him that Tseng was going to never hear a complaint again from his youngest Turk after this. Then again, Tseng was probably out picking a place to be buried. He was going to need it soon.

"You have career! Chop head off fish. Feed husband and many kids. Be woman of household. Here," he tried to hand her a knife much to her horror as she cradled the screaming infant and pointed to a koi pond. "Catch fish with feet, chop head off. Hobo husband like multitasked, experienced woman. Now!"

The auburn haired Turk shivered as though the summer breeze had turned to winter. "I can't kill a fish. I won't do it."

The knife clattered against the cobblestones by Master Yeng's sandals. He raised an eyebrow in fury, striking the ground with his cane like an angry chocobo. Brow furrowed, he turned on his heel, as though thinking about something.

Vincent smirked. Dare he say that he had placed his money on the right opponent this round? Had the short one managed to actually win an impossible battle? She must have had some great cheat codes.

A dull thud struck his chest, the cane forcing him against the wall and Master Yeng glaring from Mama Tseng to him. "You wise bring her to me. She suck at everything she do. Who this manwhore?"

Mama Tseng smirked. "This is Vikki, wife of Tseng and mother of his two children."

Master Yeng removed his glasses in shock. "God Holy Leviathan of Bahamut! He have more than one of them? What he thinking? He have family of hobos!"

"He wasn't," Mama Tseng answered before Vincent could reply. That was it. It was one thing to insult him as a woman, but to insult his 'mothering' abilities, that was poking Ifrit in the rear with a stick territory. He clenched his fist and glared at the bamboo plant.

"Alright Mister Yeng Bang whatever the hell you call yourself. You want to see a real woman? I'll show you one. Cissnei!" She trembled in response. "Bring me that teakettle."

**--**

**On the next One Hundred Tiny Missions…**

**Papa Tseng takes the boys to Dai Chao Mountain's Hall of Ancestral Meditation. Will 'Leviathan' accept Reno as a suitable sacrifice? Will Rude be blessed with his first hair? What exactly did Vincent do to Master Yeng? And Tseng is about to learn a whole new meaning for the phrase "Ghost of the past."**

**Tune in folks! Admit it, you're curious. **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :)**


	22. Mission 22 Operation Meditation

**Hi folks! I finally got the boys' mission up. Albeit short, I hope it at least give someone a laugh. (This mission sounded a lot better in my head, but just didn't go too well for me on paper for some odd reason.) Aw well. I'll make it up to you guys on the next mission. Promise. Try to enjoy this one until then. :P**

**Mission Twenty Two - Operation Meditation**

He was one with the fuzzy little gerbil. Cute rounded ears, a furry tail, hoping about happily in a wheel, receiving his daily cup of coffee via tiny watering bottle and daily sudoku puzzle as paper for the cage floor. This was the life. Not a care in the world. Just run in a circle going nowhere, being fed and cared for by people who really weren't quite sure if he was the best creature in the world to occupy a desk, and receiving a paycheck to do it all day.

Being a gerbil was great.

"Tseng."

"Go away," the lead Turk growled, closing his eyes once again and trying to picture the quiet little shrine area as a Turk-proof bubble.

Reno edged closer, his lopsided kimono falling around his shoulders as he frantically fought to keep it from falling off completely. "Whatcha doing boss?"

"Meditating."

Envision Reno as a football, he told himself. Picture him being kicked away and over the plastic little fence running between the two pagoda Wutainese restaurants. A smile tugged at his lips, the image of the red haired Turk plummeting to his demise oddly attractive right now.

"I thought that's what you did alone in your office with Palmer's-"

Tseng reached out, caught the young Turk by the ankle and flipped him against the marble courtyard floor with a resounding crack. "You have a lot to learn before you learn to say intelligent things my red haired excuse for a son."

"Songbird clip beanpole son's leaves. Still need discipline. Father teach him how meditate so he no longer be loser."

"Big deal," the red haired Turk crossed his arms across his chest. "I do not want to sit here cross-legged in a dress humming the theme of Final Fantasy every three seconds. I'm gonna go flirt with that bamboo plant instead. Maybe if I 'envision' enough, it will turn into a sexy woman."

Tseng sighed, all images of the cute fuzzy gerbil replaced by an angry bamboo plant in a dress strangling Reno. Not what he had in mind, but it would work for now. "You have no choice Reno. Just try to picture yourself as something less humiliating than what you already are."

He began to wander towards the plants and koi pond, Papa Tseng's eyebrow twitching. Not good.

"Fine," he sat down and mimicked Tseng. "I am one with the butterfly."

Tseng dropped his hands and opened his mouth in surprise. Was Reno actually making an attempt at meditating? Hades really was having a cold day. Wait, did he say 'butterfly'?

For a moment, he simply watched the younger Turk hum to himself, occasionally tapping his foot back and forth in a steady rhythm. From the looks of things, he was really getting into it.

"Whoa, look out," he dodged to the left before righting himself. "Little girl with a net. Oh look, a flower. Must. Pollinate. Must help world flora and fauna reproduce so Ancient girl has something to sell to random infantryman whose mind we ruin in this fic. Holy my wings are sexy looking. Look at them flutter! Yeah ladybug, you know you want me yo. There's room for two on this sunflower leaf. What in the hell-"

He opened his eyes with a disgruntled glare, finding Papa Tseng standing over him with a flyswatter.

"Your boy sissy. Butterfly girly animal. Picture something bold, like peacock, or penguin. Butterfly make son look gay."

Reno's eyebrow twitched. "You bastard! I was gonna score with that attractive ladybug! Why'd ya have to go and put me in a frigging jar of tree frogs yo?"

The flyswatter descended upon the Turk's forehead. "Time sacrifice you to Leviathan. Make you new man. Follow."

Papa Tseng took the lead towards the ominous gates leading deeper into the mountain.

Rude sat alone as his comrades moved to the next area, a pleasant smirk on his face as he hummed the Final Fantasy Victory Tune.

**The Lair of 'Leviathan'**

Leviathan, Water God of Wutai, Master of the Sea, Killer of Sailors, Bringer of Higher Prices at Costa Del Sol and tourist revenue - a mighty summon. Tseng had heard all of these and more over his lifetime. In every Wutainese pop up book, Leviathan was depicted as a giant serpent of the ocean, jaws like lightning, a tail with a blade to crush sailing vessels - a real god of the water.

This was not the mighty Leviathan of Legend, Tseng assured himself. It was a cobra on Prozac.

Reno poked the serpent in its golden eye with a stick, watching it raised its head with a pathetic hiss.

"Stop that."

"But Tseng, it looks kinda like Heidegger, President Shinra, and Palmer sat on it yo."

The elder Turk knelt down to study the pathetic creature, its scales dull against the bright marble pedestal it draped across. The red haired menace had a point. If this was the Great God of the Water, then either the shrine maidens weren't feeding it the right brand of pet food, or the poor beast really had tried to be a chair for his subordinates. He felt ripped off and wanted his 300 gil back.

Papa Tseng hopped about on one foot, pointing at the snake. "You bow down, worship Leviathan! Beanpole son learn from Great Master!"

Reno sighed and reached forward to touch the unfortunate reptile's forehead.

There was the shrill of a PHS reverberating through the mountain courtyard. Tseng swore, reaching beneath his kimono for the offending piece of plastic and metal.

Leviathan remained motionless, simple watching.

"What now?" he turned away from the Water God. "I'm in the middle of appeasing an ancestral god. Someone had better be dead."

_"I am."_

The unfortunate lead Turk dropped the PHS with a terrified shout, looking frantically around for the source of the voice. When Papa Tseng mentioned that one could hear their ancestors here, he hadn't thought he meant it literally.

_"Tseng? You still there?"_

Was this a dream? Was that really who he thought it was on the other line? No, he assured himself. The useless engineer had died of calorie overdose. He wasn't haunting him. No. No one haunted Tseng Tuti. Unless you were Palmer, but that doesn't count. He knelt down and retrieved the PHS, holding it to his ear with a shaky hand. "I'm afraid you have the wrong number."

Reeve sounded frantic. _"Tseng! Come on! I need my ID card back! They think I'm dead!"_

"You are," he deadpanned, still searching for the cruel prankster.

Reeve's flustered voice sighed on the other line. _"Please Tseng! I've got pansies to water and a baby cornstalk growing in the windowsill that needs fertilizer! You have to help me man!"_

Tseng nodded. "Alright Reeve, here's what you do. You-"

The PHS flew through the air with a mighty kick from Papa Tseng. "Cell phone demon box! Make man failure! Listen to wind all day and maybe ipod. But never cell phone!"

"That was an important call!" Tseng lunged for the PHS as it skittered across the stones, gaining speed and rattling as though about to go airborne. Reno bent down to retrieve it, the toe of his sandal catching the PHS, launching it towards space.

Leviathan hissed, curling up onto its tail, jaws agape in surprise as the offending piece of plastic vibrated down its throat. With an offended hiss, it flopped onto its side, the light fleeing from its eyes as the wind turned it to dust and whisked it away, with the cell phone.

Reno whistled at the empty void and looked towards a murderous Papa Tseng and his horrified son. "And I thought killing Happy was bad."

**--**

**On the next Episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions…**

**It was going to be a long ride back to Midgar…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	23. Special Operation Turks and Ninjas

**Looks like I owe you all a Special Mission. :) Here ya go and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. Thanks also to everyone who's been reading, either out of shameless curiosity, or just frantic boredom. Anyway, enjoy this special mission!**

**Special Operation Turks and Ninjas**

They could have at least salvaged some of his dignity.

Tseng sighed, staring at the brightly colored crepe paper handcuffs binding his hands in front of him as he sat cross-legged on the floor in his slightly dusty kimono, awaiting his fate. In a sense, he hadn't actually committed a crime. They could just resummon the unfortunate reptile. Couldn't they? It wasn't like it was dead for good. After all, Leviathan was the God of Water. You couldn't kill a god. Right?

Who was he kidding? He was doomed. Destined to die a painful death for his crime. He shook his head, trying to push the thought aside. Maybe Fate would be kind enough to allow him to scrape by this time. Then again…he was a Turk… For some odd reason, nothing ever went right for them, no matter how simple the mission. And in this case, he had killed an icon of a country.

"What are they going to do to us boss?" Reno whispered, trying in vain to remove the pink crepe handcuffs with little success.

Tseng closed his eyes. "Probably torture us until we die painful, humiliating deaths."

Reno paled. "Just how horrible can it get?"

"I heard Lord Godo has a dungeon of yaoi starved fan girls. You tell me."

Before Reno could reply, the imperial gates began to creep open, ominous music playing in the background. Smoke drifted through the opening, a squat man in a purple and white kimono stepping forward. For a moment, he merely surveyed his kingdom, dark beard drifting in the wind and a sinister look about him.

"Who dares disturb my checkers game?"

Papa Tseng pointed to his son. "He do stupid thing. Kill Leviathan with ringing piece of plastic. Stupid beanpole son help."

Godo's eyes widened in surprise. "Songbird actually found someone to reproduce with? Oh Holy Leviathan the world is ending! Who is this woman unfortunate enough to marry him?"

Tseng opened his mouth to protest. How dare Lord Godo use that name in public. "For your information-"

"Do not interrupt me!" Tseng cowered at the echoing voice through the plaza. Lord Godo crossed his arms across his chest, as though thinking about something. "I have made up my mind on suitable punishment."

Here we go, Tseng continued to cower, watching Reno practically melt into a puddle of nerves.

"For twenty four hours, you shall be at the mercy of Wutai's greatest Ninja. After that, there are going to be a lot of happy yaoi fan girls. Dismissed."

He turned on his heel and marched away, leaving the cowering Turks pondering their options. How bad could this be anyway?

**Less than a half of an hour later Ancestral Gardens…**

Tseng was frustrated. He'd been combing this garden for the past half of an hour, searching for the 'World's Greatest Ninja' to receive his punishment, and trying to keep Reno from throwing himself into a koi pond. So far, all he'd managed to find was an irritated squirrel and half a basket of flowers. No ninjas.

"So, ah, Tseng, old buddy, old pal - do you think they're gonna be violent?" Reno crept along the ground, trying to appear as small as possible.

"Probably. They're the type that were thrown in the dungeon by the Anti-Yaoi Alliance for breaking cannon themes and pairing up the most ridiculous, if not impossible pairings known to the fan fiction world. I'd say you are pretty much doomed. Mediating as a butterfly didn't help any."

"But butterflies are cool-"

"You would be wise to keep thoughts like that to yourself Reno. Trust me," Tseng paused, a rustle in the bamboo plants catching his attention. Those footsteps sounded familiar. He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to investigate.

"Home come Rude gets out of this?"

"He chose to meditate instead of kill an ancestral god. Right now he's probably still up there."

"What on Gaia could he be thinking about anyway?"

"He's Rude. Need I even try to explain?"

He parted the petals of a bamboo flower, stepping back in surprise at the scene unfolding less than four feet away by the water gardens.

"Mrs. Tuti-" the frantic auburn haired Turk pleaded, trying in vain to find a method of escape from the cane-wielding woman. "With all due respect, I'm not cut out for this sort of thing…"

"You should have thought about that before your mother put Master Yeng in a coma with a teakettle!" The cane caught the nearest flowerpot, shattering it and making Cissnei jump.

"Why do I have to be punished?"

"Because Master Yeng said you need experience if you ever want to marry an upstanding man from a good family."

"Seriously, I'm okay with the Hobo Level. We can build a bigger house. I know someone who could get us a great deal on some boxes-"

"No boxes. Daughter of Tseng will marry an upstanding gentleman. End of story. Now," Mama Tseng pointed to the closest bench. "Go learn how to be a proper, experienced woman."

Cissnei sighed, trudging over to the bench in defeat. She could only imagine what had become of poor Vincent after the 'incident'.

The creature lunged from the bushes with a squeal of excitement, venomous enthusiasm colliding with the unfortunate Turk. She cried out in surprise, the koi pond rushing up around her with its frigid clutches.

"Hiya!" For a moment, Cissnei dared not move, choosing only to study what had tackled her lest the beast start chewing on her arm. Dark, shimmering eyes regarded her almost with a demonic enthusiasm, the little girl's dark hair obscuring her vision.

"What are you supposed to be," she dared to ask, trying not to make any sudden movements. That had been mostly all of Tseng's useful advice for such a situation. The little girl beamed, hoping about the pond in her green tunic and yellow shorts.

"I am Yuffie Kisaragi, the World's Greatest Ninja!" With a smile, she cart wheeled through the garden, leaving the bewildered Turk trying to understand what she had just encountered. She calmly reached for her Libra, finding it missing.

For a moment, she merely considered the possibility of having dropped it in the pond when she fell. But as she searched, she grew more frantic. That was the only useful piece of materia she had been allowed to keep. And now it was missing?

Yuffie sat upon a gargoyle stature, tossing the fully mastered Libra in the air and catching it, smirking at the Turk.

"Give it back."

For a moment, the little ninja seemed to weigh the pros and cons, before sticking her tongue out at the auburn-haired Turk and hopping over to the waterfalls. Cissnei grumbled under her breath. Master Yeng deserved to be in a coma for this. Worst yet, Mama Tseng seemed to be taking pleasure in her misfortune.

Tseng was so going to pay for this when they returned to Shinra.

"All right Yuffie," she grabbed a vine from one of the hanging baskets and began stalking across the marble pathway. "This means war."

**In the bamboo wall…**

"That's the World's Greatest Ninja?" Reno struggled to keep from laughing. "She's like what - five?"

"I'm nine."

Tseng paled, turning quickly to stare at the tiny ninja holding his materia in his hands. Had he just been robbed by a child? "Hello Ms. Kisaragi-"

"You're old. And look like a marshmallow." She tilted her head to look at Reno. "You look like a turd."

"You little-"

Tseng grasped the red haired Turk by the scruff of his kimono. "She'll knock out your HP before you even get close."

"But she called me a turd!"

"Patience Reno. We need to think about this before we do anything."

Yuffie blinked, watching Reno take a step in reverse. A sinister little smirk crossed her face.

"The little boy is afraid of me? That's hilarious!" she cackled with laughter, Reno's eyebrow twitching. Before Tseng could stop him, he lunged forward, tearing open his kimono.

"I am not a little boy!"

The voiced caught the acoustics of the garden, echoing for miles. Tseng slapped his palm against his forehead with a sigh, his mortified comrade realizing just what he had said. Man Quest was officially in the red…

Yuffie somersaulted away.

**By the Ancestral Gates…**

It reminded her of _The Shining_, only with the crazy axe wielding madman replaced by an equally insane nine year old materia snatching ninja. She clutched the makeshift lasso tighter, sneaking around the corner of a stone wall, listening to the wind.

Be like the ninja, she assured herself. Be like the ninja.

"Nyuk nyuk nyuk."

Holy, had that actually worked like she thought it would? Just a few more feet…

Yuffie leapt down in front of her, tackling her to the ground once more. "You look like something out of Harry Potter."

Cissnei sighed, tapping her fingers against the ground in defeat. This kid was impossible.

"Play with me."

The way the ninja said it sent chills down her spine. She was almost afraid to even ask what Yuffie's version of 'play' involved. Nothing good, she reasoned.

"W-what do you want to play?"

Yuffie bounded across the stones, stepping on an unfortunate frog along the way.

"Turks and Ninjas! Turks and Ninjas!" she squealed in delight. Cissnei rubbed a hand against her forehead to quell the brewing headache.

"How do we play Turks and Ninjas." Somehow, she figured she already knew.

"I'm a ninja stealing materia from you Turks," Yuffie explained. "You are Turks trying to get it back. You win, you get your materia back. I win, you all become my slaves for life."

The auburn haired Turk paled. A slave. To Yuffia Kisaragi. Could there be a more cruel punishment? Glumly, she nodded, retrieving her lasso and watching the Ninja bound away. There was just something wrong with that girl.

Tseng and Reno stepped out of the bushes. "We are so screwed."

**Turks and Ninjas round One…**

They stalked through the garden in proper Turk formation, adjusting their strides at the slightest hint of movement in the brush.

"Don't say it," Tseng warned as Reno opened his mouth to speak about their latest screw up.

"I hope Vincent's all right," Cissnei continued to keep an eye out for the rouge ninja, her kimono tattered and looking every bit defeated as Tseng felt.

"Holy I hope so. He's the only one I don't have a life insurance policy out on yet."

"You sick bastard."

The lead Turk sighed. "Usually he's not the one who ends up giving me any grief. You two on the other hand-"

Cissnei held up a hand for silence, pointing to the shadow moving along the edge of a waterfall with the setting sun. Reno winked.

"Guess we gotta show ya what we can do yo?"

"I was afraid you'd say that. Be careful. I don't want to do the paperwork on you two."

Both red haired Turks crept forward.

"Here Yuffie, Yuffie Yuffie," Reno called, slipping a lasso around his wrist and sneaking towards the shadow. She smirked and took another step in reverse, balancing precariously atop the rocks.

"What's up losers?"

"Be a nice little kleptomaniac and give us back our materia-"

"But I earned it fair and square."

"No," Cissnei corrected. "You stole it from us. Now, give it back!"

The lasso soared through the air, catching the ninja's arm. Reno's eyes widened in shock as Yuffie smiled evilly.

"Hey, look, Tseng's pants are missing!"

"What in the hell boss?" Reno turned, realizing his mistake at the last minute. He turned back, watching a swearing Cissnei gather her lasso and frantically try to understand just how the Ninja had vanished so suddenly.

"Nyuk nyuk nyuk. Looks like I'm going to have some new slaves and materia by tonight!" She bounded over the wall, makeshift cape fluttering in the breeze, leaving Tseng cursing and swearing as the vine tightened around his legs, hoisting him into the air.

**Turks and Ninjas round Two…**

"Okay, so now what?" Tseng dangled over the pit of piranha koi, his kimono riding down around his shoulders.

Reno gave a half hearted shrug. "Hope they're vegetarian?"

"Be serious. How are we going to get out of this one without dying humiliating deaths?"

"Dunno. Probably should have thought about that before we ambushed the little brat. I can't believe she actually stole your pants."

"This kid need a big time out."

"Will you two shut up," Cissnei frantically tugged at the vine binding her legs, watching a koi leap out of the water and snap at Tseng's pony tail. "I'm trying to think here."

"Someone's in a grumpy mood today."

"I'm hanging upside down over a pit of ferocious goldfish turned piranha koi in the company of two idiots. I think I have a reason to be grumpy." The vine loosened slightly, making her fall a few inches closer to the pond. "Reno, you got a nail file by any chance?"

"Sure thing 'Nei." He handed her a nail file, making Tseng scowl.

"Reno, a word when we get back to Headquarters-"

There was a snap, followed by a squeak of surprise, the auburn haired female Turk landing with a soft thud at the edge of the pond. She dusted off her kimono and looked up at the boys. "Next?"

Tseng sighed, reaching out a hand to grasp the nail file, painstakingly sawing through the offending vine and landing beside the female Turk. He tossed the file to Reno.

"Now what?" There was a splash, followed by a frantic red head swatting at the koi as he clambered out of the pond.

"We go 'hunting' for our ninja."

Fireflies danced around the garden long after the sun had set, leaving the three Turks once again stalking their prey. Tseng clutched the makeshift torch high above his head, casting the area in bold light and leaving Reno moping about in the lead as the 'bait'. Who could resist a defenseless Turk like Reno, alone, defenseless, with a shiny nail file in plain view.

"I hate you guys."

"You're not exactly my favorite 'child' either."

"Quiet guys," Cissnei warned, holding her makeshift bamboo bow and arrow pointed at the shadow approaching. There she was, wearing Tseng's pants for a cape and looking every bit as demonic as they remembered her. She waved to them.

"Hi losers. Ready to suffer more humiliation?"

"Yes, Yuffie," Cissnei smiled. "Take your best shot."

Tseng and Reno exchanged horrified glances. Had she said what they thought she said? It was officially over. Cissnei had lost her mind.

Yuffie raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to the youngest Turk and studying her as though she had turned into a chocobo. "No fair! You're supposed to be all angry and stuff!"

"We really want to play now. Turks and Ninjas is the best game in the world."

Yuffie wrinkled her nose, taking Tseng's pants off and throwing them at his feet.

"I'm bored then. It's no fun with willing victims." She reached forward and snatched a piece of paper out of the young Turk's hands, reading it quickly and smiling.

"Got your e-mail!" She bounded away with a list of e-mails in hand. Tseng glared at the youngest Turk, strongly considering her sanity. Did she realize just what she had done?

"Way to go, Cissnei! You just made our department miserable for the rest of our lives!" Reno scolded, watching her toss the retrieved materia to their rightful owners.

"Correction. I just got our materia back," she clutched the little leather pouch with a smirk. "And _we_ aren't the ones who are going to be miserable. Mr. Zack Fair, however…"

Tseng smirked. "You're evil."

"Someone has to be," she looked around, half expecting to be ambushed. "Let's get our things and get out of here."

**Back at Papa and Mama Tseng's house…**

There was a crash, followed by the thunder of feet as the three Turks bolted up the stairs and onto the porch, two irate Wutainese parents following an inhuman speed.

Tseng leapt for the driver's seat.

"Go man! Go!" Reno pleaded.

"I'm trying," Tseng turned the key once more, the engine sputtering and dying once again. He swore under his breath. They weren't going to make it.

"What about Vincent and Rude?"

"They'll be here." He hoped it was the truth.

Rude vaulted over a stone wall from the west, Vincent galloping across a rice field trying to keep his wig on with brightly ribbons streaming from his body. A look of terror glazed his eyes as he slipped into the front seat, watching the cane wielding Mama Tseng approaching, hell bent on murdering her son.

The station wagon gave a pathetic growl and remained dead.

"Do I gotta do everything?" Reno opened the door and stepped out, popping the hood. Tseng raised an eyebrow. Since when did the red haired Turk do anything other than complain and jeopardize his manhood?

"Yo, Cissnei. Need a little help over here."

"Alright Reno." She skittered past Mama Tseng and began assisting her comrade with rigging the engine battery to start. Reno smirked, flicking the EMR on and tapping it to the wires. Immediately the station wagon started up, the two Turks scrambling to not be left behind as Tseng floored it, breaking through a fence.

"Since when do you two know anything about engines?"

Cissnei scowled. "Since Shinra's too cheap to create a maintenance station for motorcycles."

"Hey, I turned a flower cart into a driveable vehicle didn't I?" Reno added with a wink.

Tseng looked in his rearview mirror, not even bothering to ask Vincent about his ribbons. Back at the fence, Papa Tseng was hopping up and down like a disgruntled imp, while Mama Tseng was shouting.

"Master Yeng will find you!"

--

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions…**

**The Voice from Tseng's office is back, and it's not happy…Why IS Reno still going through Cissnei's mail? And why does Rude look so damn happy?**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	24. Mission 24 Operation Black Market Pastry

**Hi there folks! Welcome to yet another mission (actually well ahead of schedule this time). :) **

**Brought to you today by: McMako's! You'll never find a more lethal burger and fries around! We promise! **

**And now on with the mission!**

**Mission Twenty Four - Operation Black Market Pastry**

It felt good to be back in Midgar. No screaming Papa Tseng, no cobras on Prozac, no repeated beatings with a koi fish from Mama Tseng, and no gender confused Turks trying to throw themselves off pagodas. Here he could keep tabs on his four minions, assign them mindless paperwork and less humiliating missions, and once again resume a sense of normalcy, even if it did mean he would have to stand in amongst the various livestock at the Corporate feeding trough and be verbally abused by such discussions about what brand of cracker tasted better or what type and color curtain should the president's office contain.

Tseng sipped his coffee. Chartreuse. Definitely chartreuse. With little lacy flowers and tiny embroidered vines. It would add some light to the man's office at least. Not that the lava lamps and retro disco ball didn't do that enough…He could hardly wait for this rumor called Disco to pass. Hadn't that died years ago anyway when the SOLDIERs and Infantrymen got a little too carried away and ended up mixing together?

Lazard and Scarlet hadn't spoken since.

Just a fad, he reminded himself. It is just a fad. And it is only the president. It wasn't like anything the overweight man said actually had influence. Did it?

It was a question worth pondering for the entire day at least. He took another sip of his coffee and brushed some dust from his blazer. His 'children' should be arriving for work any minute now. With any luck, they would actually some missions accomplished today.

At the staple riddled door, he hesitated, almost wishing Reeve was still around. There was a crash from beyond, the sound of some sort of lumbering beast trying to get comfortable in its nest reaching the lead Turk's ears. Drawing a deep breath, he eased the door open.

"You're late - again." The voice snarled, making Tseng take a hesitant step in reverse. Maybe Wutai wasn't so bad after all.

"I'm ten minutes early!" he protested, clutching his coffee cup tighter and watching the shadow leer at him.

"I already told you what happens to late Turks. Especially those who forget to bring my donuts-"

"It's not like you can do anything to me. No one else is stupid enough to want my job." For once, Tseng felt pretty confident facing the shadowy leech who had invaded his space. After Wutai, he could handle anything.

Until he saw what the man held in his hands.

"Is that-"

"Oh yes, Tseng. It is."

"You horrific monster!" He watched the tiny goldfish look at him with those defenseless eyes that said 'Help me Tseng! Heeelp meeee!'

"About those donuts then?"

"You might have won this round!" Tseng turned on his heel and marched out the door, crumbling his coffee cup. "But I will win this war!"

"Remember, periwinkle blue sprinkles with avocado jam centers and moss green icing. Or else." The shadow made an imitated motion much like a filleting knife attacking the goldfish. Tseng paled and stormed into the corridor, slamming the door behind him.

He was going to find a way to get his office back yet…

**The mailroom…**

Cissnei scowled, once again swiping her hand over the bottom of the mailbox. This was the third time this week she had gone to retrieve her mail and found nothing. That couldn't be right. She always had some sort of mail waiting for her. But this, now this was just weird.

The click of the door opening caught her attention, the lumbering footsteps of her comrade reaching her ears.

"Hey Rude."

"Morning Cissnei."

"Did the mail come this week?" she asked, staring at her vacant mailbox and trying to figure out what might have happened. Rude raised an eyebrow, picking up a packet of envelopes and his monthly copy of **"_Hair care for the Bare."_**

"Yep," he turned and wandered back into the hallway, leaving his auburn haired comrade pondering her options. She was expecting an important letter this week too. Retrieving her shuriken, she stormed out of the mailroom and towards her office, encountering a disgruntled Tseng along the way.

She hesitated. Was her superior officer having a verbal argument with an address book and losing? Perhaps the trip had done a little more than introduce him back to his heritage. Then again, were any of them still sane? She was just happy to have her pants back.

"Um, Sir-" She retrieved a few steps at the glare she received. "Why are you talking to an address book?"

She found herself hoping that it was some sort of super cool Turk thing, but the look on his face told her otherwise. The Turks never had any cool secret agent things of their own anyway.

"I need donuts."

Had she heard that right? Since when did Tseng eat donuts? He hated the little round menaces with a passion, and for as long as she could remember, they were forbidden food on this particular floor.

"Sir?"

"Donuts," he flipped through the address book with the calmness of a madman. "Where can I find donuts?"

"Depends on what kind you're looking for, Sir," she shrugged. "Hojo usually gets his down at that little coffee shop in Sector Eight."

The address book struck the wall and landed with a pathetic splat by her feet. "I am not going to Sector Eight for donuts!"

Something was irritating him this morning.

"Then it's not really my problem, Sir," she began to walk away, but Tseng blocked the doorway.

"There are lives at stake. I need donuts. Now."

Lives? The auburn haired Turk raised an eyebrow. Now things were getting really weird. Maybe she didn't even want to know what brought this on all of a sudden.

"Sir, is this about Reeve and his high cholesterol snack food attack? I mean, if you miss him that much, you could just order the Thunder Thigh combo meal at McMakos or something else with 125,000 calories and a sprit of radiation. If you ask for cheese and a pickle on it the heart attack is included free of charge."

Tseng sighed and leaned against the wall, watching an irritated fly buzz by. "I need donuts this morning. Avacado jam ones with moss green icing and periwinkle sprinkles, probably in the shape of little spaceships."

Cissnei arched an eyebrow, trying to figure out just why her superior would need something so detailed and disgusting. Tseng hated spaceships almost as much as he hated donuts and tofu. A faint possibility surfaced in the back of her mind, making her shudder.

This had to involve that horrific thing that had taken up residence in Tseng's office. She scratched something down on a piece of paper out of pity and handed it to him. "What ever you do Sir, don't make eye contact. Reno's advice. Just slip him some gil, collect your pastries, and run as fast as you can."

Tseng stood, bewildered at the chicken scratch handwriting in front of him. But, before he could question it, the young Turk had vanished, as though the forbidden information she revealed did not exist. Still, he smirked. This couldn't be too hard. Zanzibar would be saved yet.

**In a seedy little park somewhere in Sector Two some time later…**

This was criminal activity at its worst.

He committed the words to memory as he stepped through the dreary little excuse for a park. Benches painted in brilliant shades of pastel and fountains spitting unusually clear liquid, he could not help but feel uncomfortable. It was too happy. Too, civilian friendly. According to Cissnei's note though, this was the place. Now all he had to do was find his man in question. A man known only as 'The Sugar Rush'.

Putting on his best version of the patented Turk Strut, he swaggered past the sinister children playing quietly with toy trucks and chocobos. He fumbled with his tie nervously. He had done some illegal deeds in his life, but this was just nerve wracking. What if someone saw him here? Worse yet, what if he was robbed by that group of shifty eyed youngsters over there. A lot of things could happen to a Turk in this part of town. Nothing pleasant.

He was still finding glitter from the kindergarten on the ceilings of the Administrative Research Department Corridor.

Oh how the low he felt, the leader of the Turks entering into a black market pastry ring to save a goldfish. This was a job more suited for Reno.

"Hey," a gruff voice spoke from behind the swing set, his trench coat obscuring most of his form. "You the guy I'm supposed to meet?"

"Y-yes. I was told you could help me with some donuts." He cast another nervous look about, trying to remember Cissnei's warning about looking this sinister character in the eyes.

The trench-coat wearing man stepped into the shadows and held out a small tray of backed goods from a little cart. "I got whatcha need right here. Sprinkles, powdered, glazed if you're really needing a fix. Twists, nuts, jams, jellies, you name it, I got it."

That voice sounded familiar…

"Avacado jam, moss green icing, and periwinkle starship sprinkles. One dozen if you have them." He reached into his wallet to withdraw some gil.

"Oh, so you're a real addict then. Got what ya need right here." The man held the box up temptingly to the Turk and accepted the money. Tseng looked over the precious cargo with a satisfied smirk and turned away. Like clockwork.

The Black Market Pastry 'Sugar Rush' dealer turned to flee back into the shadows - and snagged his trench coat upon the edge of the slide, tripping and tumbling into the sandbox with a cry of surprise.

Tseng turned to look, nearly dropping his package in surprise. Was that-

"This isn't what it looks like!" The blonde infantryman frantically waved his hands and tried to look as innocent as humanly possible, the remnant of a glazed donut stuck to his chin and a cheese danish resting atop his blond hair. "I wasn't trying to sell pastries to young children for gil or supply little old ladies needing an edge in the bakeoffs with the perfect pastry! I wasn't trying to bring back the sugar fix. I swear! I'm innocent! I only sell the stuff! Zack Fair and Angeal Hewley bake it!"

Zack and Angeal? What for hellish boredom would possess two SOLDIERs to spend their free time backing pastries? Something was wrong with those boys…

Tseng pondered the young infantryman's fate for a few moments. He could send him on another round of hell at the Midgar 'Skool'. He could send him on a one way trip to Wutai. He could even drag the poor boy back to Lazard and try to explain what had occurred, spilling the beans about his other two SOLDIER's questionable acts with sugar, starch, and sprinkles. Then again, he would have to have a good excuse for being there himself. Especially the starship sprinkles.

He swore under his breath, looking at the donuts. Zanzibar needed to live.

Don't rethink this, he warned himself. You joined the dark side the moment you inquired about this matter to Cissnei. Suck it up and deal with this like a real Turk should. Do it for Zanzibar.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he towered over the quivering infantryman. "Pay you an extra 100 gil to lace every one of these sprinkles with laxatives and I won't tell anyone this little incident ever occurred."

The blond infantryman nodded and extended a hand to shake Tseng's. "Deal."

**Sector Five's Station later that same morning….**

He absolutely loathed the Shinra Rail System. Balancing the box of pastries under one arm and trying to swipe his keycard for the eighteenth time, he merely watched the familiar letters cross the screen.

"Authorization by engineer required. Please retry in five minutes."

Tseng blinked, trying to prevent himself from killing the automated box. People were starting to stare at the man in the suit frantically trying to get a ticket back to his office in time for brunch. Didn't this miserable piece of metal realize how much Midgar relied on these very donuts? After several seconds, the little light changed to green and the approval light flicked on.

Someone caught his elbow, shoving him out of the way before he could grab his ticket.

"Move it young 'un. I got to get to my bunion appointment."

Tseng moved to intercept the elderly woman who had cut in front of him, grasping her by the arm. "Excuse me, Miss, but I was in front of you."

She adjusted her spectacles and studied the leader of the Turks, her eyes widening in shock. "Help! This man's trying to rob me again!"

Wait? What? Tseng blinked in horror. "Oh sweet Holy. Lady, I didn't-"

The old lady swung the cane like a bow stave, catching the box of pastries and knocking the lead Turk to the ground, frantically reaching for her cell phone and dialing an all too familiar number.

Tseng reached for his own phone, realizing it was still AWOL no thanks to Leviathan. Of all the rotten luck, it just had to be _this_ little old lady who he had encountered.

"My donuts!" he lunged for the box as it slid through the crowd, being putted about like a hockey puck by shoes of all nations. His fingers just about grazed it when the pair of security police tackled him to the ground, kicking the box out of the way and attaching handcuffs to his hands.

The lead Turk watched the box of donuts being carried away by the front engine of the train, never to be seen again.

And it was only Monday...

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions…**

**Will Tseng ever save Zanzibar the goldfish? Will Reno ever stop reading his comrade's mail? Why is Rude sitting in a corner? And, Reeve, is that really you? What's with the lava lamp and beaded curtains?**

**Until we meet again, **

**Sage Quill : )**


	25. Mission 25 Operation Secure Some Ammo

**Happy Fourth of July everyone! Enjoy this rapidly insane mission while you watch the fireworks…And be sure to stay tuned for Sunday's follow up mission (this is part one of two) Mwa ha ha ha ha ha! **

**Seriously folks, be safe out there and DO NOT do anything stupid with Fireworks. You could lose a hand or worse that way.**

**Have a Good one.**

**Mission Twenty Five - Operation Secure Some Ammo**

Reno tapped his finger against the Plexiglas window, watching the agitated creature on the other side pace back and forth with the occasional glare. It was like watching a self-conscious zebra try to fit in with a bunch of angrier, more hormonal self-conscious zebras and fail miserably. Only, much cooler.

For several minutes, the red haired Turk snickered at the state of his superior, knowing that no matter how many times the angry Wutainese man tried to strangle him with his mind, he was immune. When he got out, it would be a different story. But for now, he intended on enjoying every second of humiliation occurring behind that three quarters of an inch pane of glass.

He tossed the black phone in the air and caught it with a skillful flick of the wrist.

"When Cissnei said you were in jail, I didn't think she meant this kind yo." He read the plaque above the door in amusement.

"Shut up and find a way for me to get out of here right now."

"I don't know about that boss," he leaned back in the chair. "You did a nice number to that little old lady. From the way 'Nei put it, you're in for a long time. Sounded like things were getting pretty heated over the phone too."

Tseng left out a breath of relief. At least one of his more sensible Turks handled the phone call.

Reno smirked. "Dunno exactly what was said, but something tells me attack kittens and a fluffy chocobo named Barracuda are involved. You gotta watch that one yo. She's into some twisted stuff."

The glass rattled as the lead Turk banged a fist against it, startling the flamboyant Turk across from him. "You went through her mail again? Do you have a death wish? I already warned you once about how this whole woman thing works. She'll-"

Reno hung up the phone while Tseng continued to yell and vent. Once the glass stopped shaking, he retrieved the phone and listened to the silence upon the other end, the elder Turk's face red from yelling.

"But Tseng, the woman's insane. I mean if you saw half of the things she gets in her mailbox," he produced a small manila envelop with the words _"Top Sekret."_ scrawled across the front in haphazard crayon and began pulling envelops out.

The elder Turk rubbed the small dot in the center of his forehead, willing whatever invisible sniper was aiming for him to hurry up and pull the trigger. Reno mounting a pointless investigation on his own was like asking Palmer to eat moderately at an all you can eat lard bar. It was not going to end pretty. The red haired Turk pressed a small catalogue against the glass.

"Moomba Madness? What the hell Tseng!" he began flipping through the pages, revealing several of the ferocious little beasts in various stances. "Care. Feeding. Shelters. Famous moombas in history. MATING calls? What. The. Hell."

Tseng sighed, "Did it ever occur to you that she likes Moombas?"

"Okay. Fine," he held up an envelop with the Shinra logo across the top corner. "Explain this one boss man!"

Tseng, for a moment, considered pleading guilty and willingly spending his ten months in prison for a crime he did not commit. Was this Turk really that dense?

"That would be her renewed 'License to Kill' for certain red haired cockroaches such as yourself, the other two Shinra logo letters contain her quarterly rent for that closet she calls a dorm, and a reminder to renew her driver's license for that bike of hers. Any other pointless questions you have about your comrade's mail, Butterfly Boy?"

Reno nodded, shoving the letters back into the envelop and drawing a powder blue one from his back pocket.

"All right. I'll let the first couple slide," the letter stuck to the glass with the static generated. "What in the hell do you call this?"

Tseng read over the feminine script and shrugged. "It looks perfectly normal to me, Reno."

"It looks like the makings of a psycho! Holy Tseng! She is not in her right mind yo! I mean, just look at this! Right there," he pointed to some lettering. "Right there. It spells out psycho in training."

"I'd be more concerned if that letter was addressed to you instead of her. Now, put her mail back in her mailbox and just back away before she puts that shuriken where shurikens should never go and feeds you to some hungry Moomba."

"But Tseng-"

"Give Cissnei her mail back and I'll help you get back onto the Man Ladder you so embarrassingly fell off of back in Wutai," he looked down at his nails with that sly smirk of his. "If you don't, I know some good fan girls who would just love to see a Reno x something yaoi fic with lots of mpreg going on."

"You sick bastard!"

"If I must be, then yes, yes I am. Now if you don't mind, I've got tea with the, " he shuddered. "'girls' in ten minutes. If you have nothing more to say to me, then-"

The red head leaned backwards, making the chair stand on its hind legs as he propped his feet up against the glass and twirled the phone cord around his fingers. "Relax yo. We'll get ya out of here no problem before ya become someone's little Scarlet doll. Just leave it to us."

Tseng paled. He was afraid Reno would say something like that, but before he could protest, the flamboyant red head's chair tumbled backwards, and he was gone.

**Cissnei's Office, Lunch Hour…**

She hated her job.

With Tseng being behind bars for attacking little old ladies and 'the Voice' from the office barking generalized orders from the shadows and calling her every ten minutes, the unpleasant task of controlling and trying to remotely contain her fellow co-workers fell solely upon her shoulders.

"No Reno. I will not authorize a mission for you," she adjusted her reading spectacles and tried once again to read the latest mission briefing. From the looks of it, they were due for yet another trip to the mall with Rufus in search of fashionable girdles soon. She quickly filed it under non-essential, finding the piece of offensive paper once again in front of her.

"Aw, come on 'Nei. We need this mission. My-I mean Tseng's manhood depends upon it."

For the Holy's sake. She scanned over the piece of paper with a sigh.

Rude glanced up from his magazine in warning. "Don't listen to him, Cissnei. He's trying to lure you into the dark side of the cone of lameness."

Reno's mouth dropped open. Since when did Rude go against him? They were partners in crime darn it!

The auburn haired female pushed the form across the desk and shook her head. "No."

Her PHS shrilled, making even Rude groan. With a sigh, she checked the number and reluctantly answered. "Yes Sir."

There was mumbling on the other line, making her scowl.

"No Sir. I'm afraid I'm not authorized to-" Her fist connected with the surface of the desk, making Reno retreat in surprise. He'd seen her irritated sure, but angry, not like this. Whoever was on the other line was really treading in dangerous territory. "Now look here you greasy little weasel-"

There was a click, the line going dead.

She flipped the phone shut with a growl and glared at her red haired comrade. "Give. Me. That. Form."

Her signature was not even dry yet before she stormed to the door and collected her keys, glaring at the boys.

"What are you waiting for? We have an idiot to unseat."

**Meanwhile at the Shinra DMV…**

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tuesti, but according to this you're-"

"Dead," he scowled, taping his fingers against the countertop. "Tell me something I don't know. How do I get that changed?"

The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow and continued chewing on her piece of gum, studying the frazzled engineer.

"But you're dead Sir. We don't grant ID cards to zombies." She directed his attention to a sign that clearly stated - **No Zombies or Undead, no matter how alive they might look. They can STILL suck out your brains people!**

Reeve swore under his breath. "Look, Miss. I don't want to cause any problems, but there was a simple misunderstanding. If you would only grant me a temporary ID card-"

"Read the sign buddy. No zombies or undead. You're not living, so no ID for you."

She struck his knuckle with a ruler, driving him several feet in retreat. With a sigh, he turned and walked back outside, pondering his options.

He sat in a disgruntled heap atop the steps, watching the crowds walk by with their usual merriment. This was all Tseng's fault. Any other victim and the processing would have taken months. But he ended up dropping one piece of canvas and a bucket of paint with a Pringles container full of paint brushes, and he was automatically declared dead.

He needed a miracle. Something to prove him 'undead' at least. As though reading his mind, three familiar figures stepped into view from around the corner, arguing as usual.

**By the Fountain… **

Reno rolled his eyes at the standard array of firecrackers, stink bombs, and various other frizzlers and frazzlers illegally sold to brighten up most people's holiday. Great as this stuff was, he needed something a little more powerful if their plan was going to work. Perhaps it was the side effects of a little too much Pink Lemonade and Gatoraid. Maybe it was the nachos they'd eaten for lunch. But, somewhere during that time frame, three great minds had managed to settle on one insane mission to save the world.

Ahem, I mean, at least save their dignity…Maybe…

It had been Rude who ventured to the dark side first, donning a lab coat and darker sunglasses and laying out the basic fundamentals of what they wanted and could do on a chalkboard. Cissnei had provided detailed information on what the target's habits were, without actually mentioning who it was who was going to be facing their wrath. Still, Reno shuddered, the way she had said it made him all the more excited to actually be a part of this historical day.

It was a pity Vincent wasn't there to stop them. They really could have used a humanoid guinea pig.

"Reno?" Cissnei held the terrified rodent-like creature protectively against her blazer. "Are you sure an actual guinea pig is necessary for this? I mean, any one of use could do it easily."

"Where's your sense of adventure 'Nei?" He tried to grab the unfortunate rodent as they continued to peruse the various sparklers.

She was already regretting letting her dark side take over.

"I don't think Sir Squeaksalot is going to appreciate being strapped to an explosive device…"

The guinea pig squealed in protest.

"Ah, he'll be fine yo. These things survive anything. Right little guy?" He drew his hand back with a vicious bite marring his fingers.

The female Turk retreated a few steps while her male comrades tried to sort out their fireworks problem. It was then that she saw a ghost…

"Reeve? Is that you?" Cissnei could have hugged the frazzled engineer walking around the fountain. "Thank Holy you're alive!"

For a moment, the engineer appeared somewhat confused. Had she actually addressed him as being alive?

"No I'm not. I'm 'dead'."

"Ah! A zombie! Rude! The antizombie repellant!"

The bald man sighed, trying to remember what he had done with the phoenix downs again.

Cissnei shook her head in embarrassment as Reno proceeded to zap the unfortunate engineer with his EMR. The guinea pig fidgeted in her grasp with a nervous squeak.

"That's an easy fix Sir. I could just refile your paperwork and you'd be considered living again when I get back to my office."

"Whatever's left of it-" Reno snickered. At this, Reeve raised an eyebrow of curiosity, trying to regain his footing. Uh oh, what were Tseng's 'children' up to now?

"Excuse me?"

Reno rolled his eyes. "Tseng's in prison, Vincent's being flirted with by Hojo again, Cissnei's supposed to be in charge of us two, and some mysterious voice has taken up residence in Tseng's office, leeching the sanity from each of us without actually being seen."

The female Turk sighed. "This Voice actually kidnapped Tseng's goldfish. So this is sort of a rescue/revenge/Reno's playtime sort of mission."

Reeve's eyes widened. "Not Zanzibar! Oh Holy that sinister Voice will pay for this!"

He marched over to the fireworks stand, grabbed Rude's plans, and whispered something to the attendant.

"Oh, in that case, you want this one."

He pointed to a golden pedestal rimmed in light as mystical music began to play.

There it was, in a colorful wrapper depicting exploding watermelons and frightened chocobos; with warnings in eight thousand different languages, including Nibelheim and Gongagan Hillbilly Redneckese.

And in golden letters across the wrapper were the words - "The Fizzler".

**--**

**Coming up on the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions…**

"**Don't flush that toilet!"**

**You don't want to miss this one!**

**Until next time…**

**SageQuill :)**


	26. Special Operation Firecracker

**Hello again folks and welcome another special mission! (Actually, it's only the sequel to the mission from yesterday, but still...) Whoot, it's still an update for now! Again, thanks to everyone who's been reading so far and I hope to keep you entertained for many more fun missions! Enjoy the latest misadventure. :) **

**Special Operation Firecracker **

For the better part of an hour, the four impending criminals merely sat around the weapon deemed "The Fizzler", admiring its glossy wrapper and envisioning what it was capable of. Banned on most of Gaia, with the exception of Gongaga, Nibelheim, and for some odd reason, Bone Village and Fort Condor, even being seen with such an item was punishable by life at the Desert Prison, or worse yet, serving as the sole attendant at Chocobo Billy's Happy Chocobo Rides during a birthday party.

This was serious stuff, uncharted territory, and the opportunity of a lifetime.

Reno salivated at the prospect of being the first human being every to actually test the limits of "The Fizzler." In a way, he imagined there would be a mighty explosion of elegant, beautiful fire, probably enough to take out the sprinklers before they could ruin his fun and more than enough to be seen for hundreds of miles in all direction.

Sunglasses, he made a mental note. Get sunglasses to watch the flash. And a camera to record it for play by play review later. This was going to be the best mission of his career. With that infamous grin of his, he eyed the frightened guinea pig huddled against the auburn haired female Turk's elbow.

Cissnei shielded the little rodent from the demented Turk's gaze, trying once again to figure out why Rude suggested they needed an actual guinea pig to begin with.

"You can't strap that thing to Sir Squeaksalot and blow him up!" she protested. "This is a 'T' rated fic Reno!"

"Lighten up, 'Nei. Think of this as a golden opportunity for the little guy. He'll get to go where no guinea pig has gone before-"

Reeve flinched at the slap the red haired menace received from the female Turk. That was going to leave a mark.

"Okay," he flinched. "Sir whatever his name is gets to live another day. Still…"

This time, Rude stepped in, looking the tiny rodent over with a skeptical eye.

"I never intended on blowing such a cute fuzzy animal up. Actually," the wheels in his head began to turn as he looked from the rodent to the female Turk and the engineer. "I was thinking of something completely different."

He leaned forward and whispered something to the pair, watching them exchange glances and nod in silence. Without even acknowledging Reno's presence, both engineer and Turk stepped away from the table with the guinea pig, vanishing into Reeve's office.

**A good half of an hour later…**

Reno wasn't sure if their guinea pig was still a guinea pig. He raised an eyebrow at the cyborg-like creature standing upon its hind legs and sniffing the air with its whiskers, a tiny metallic helmet with infrared goggles emitting a light, barely detectable hum. A tiny bullet proof jacket rested around its body, with tiny metallic microchips wired into the fabric. All he needed was a belt of ammunition and a tiny MK 47 and no one would be messing with him.

Rude blinked, watching the tricked out guinea pig with interest. Either these two had way too much time on their hands, or Tseng hadn't yet explored their full potential as geniuses in disguise.

Reeve pointed to Sir Squeaksalot with a beaming smile. "Behold, the Squeaker Cam."

"Dude, that's the guinea pig equivalent of Rambo yo."

Cissnei held a small handheld computer with a screen on it and typed in a code, watching as the image transferred to a larger screen. Reno's enlarged face appeared on screen in black and white, making him jump in surprise.

"Holy. That's me!"

"Yes," she sighed. "Yes it is."

He tapped the guinea pig's helmet curiously - making the little beast jump in surprise. A laser shot from its helmet, burning a hole in his uniform jacket sleeve.

"What in the hell is this thing yo?" he scrambled back in surprise. "It just fired a laser at me!"

Cissnei smiled. "Well, we had to protect it somehow."

"You gave it a friggin laser! You need a hobby. Basket weaving, knitting, anything but this sort of twisted thing!"

The bald Turk turned away with a snicker, watching the exchange. The day had finally come when Reno was to be replaced by a guinea pig…

"Oh relax. He's a valuable member of the team now," she placed the creature on the ground, watching as it scurried under a desk. Immediately, images of cobwebs and various items appeared on screen, each documented. "Wanna see something even cooler?"

Reno paled as the Turk tapped a button and the guinea pig trotted out from beneath the desk for a treat.

"He responds to sound waves and carrots. He can be used to help us find a suitable location for that thing you guys bought from that illegal fireworks stand."

"Neat. When can we start?"

Reeve smirked, watching the door across the hallway through the crack in the doorframe. "Whenever you want."

"Sweet. Let's do this yo!"

He donned his special gloves and picked up "The Fizzler" as though it were a sacred item not to be touched by human hands. Cissnei just rolled her eyes and studied Sir Squeaksalot, who seemed ready to do this. Why did she feel like this was going to end badly for the poor little critter?

**Outside of the Board Room…**

Three Turks and a 'deceased' engineer waited behind a vacant secretary's desk, watching the tiny monitor flash as their spy made his rounds.

"You sure about this, 'Nei."

"Yep. Once we get a location, we can actually set that thing to go off."

"Tell the little booger to hurry up then. Hey, is that Scarlet's big toe? Ewwww. Toe fungus!"

The image jounced wildly as the camera stopped to sniff a pair of oversized boots, the conversation taking place above being fed through the headphones.

_"No, I do not think the budget should be adjusted to allow for the penguins of Modeoheim to receive benefits due to our Mako Reactors."_

A huskier voice responded with a growl. _"Screw the penguins. I want more research money to fund Mako energy."_

_"Actually,"_ Lazard grumbled. _"We pay the penguins to keep quiet about this whole thing. If the public knew about some of the things those tuxedo menaces saw regarding those strange flashing lights up there, we'd be fundamentally screwed."_

There was a mumble of agreement across the board.

_"When you put it that way-"_ Heidegger began, only to be cut off by 'The Voice'.

_"This is ridiculous. We're spending 2.6 billion per year on penguin housing, health care, and fancy sleighs for them! And yet the science budget is only 120 billion? Can't you cut out those other penguins from this to give us more funding?"_

_"You mean the Turks?"_ Scarlet laughed in her hideous Kya ha ha fashion. _"We cut their funding years ago. The next option is going to be reducing their uniforms to pink vests and rhinestone sapphire pants from Wall Market-"_

A foot filled the screen, making Cissnei panic. Scarlet appeared to stiffen, toes stroking the bullet proof jacket of the guinea pig. There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, several actually, and then four sets of eyes fell upon the little critter.

_"ALIEN MOUSE!"_

The resounding scream made all four spies outside the door wrench their headsets off to salvage what little remained of their hearing.

"Chit chit chit!" Reno watched the furry beast wriggled under the door and head straight for them, the sound of venomous feet behind the door approaching.

Cissnei grabbed the critter and began running for cover, her comrades in hot pursuit.

**Cissnei's office…**

"That bastard wants to cut our funding even worse! Holy, we'll be collecting cans to make ends meet!" Reno paced back and forth, his jacket swishing with the breeze as Cissnei tended to the frightened guinea pig and Reeve and Rude kept an eye out for any signs of their pursuers.

"Hmmm," Rude wiped the sweat from his brow. "We need to get this situation moving and Tseng's office back. Can't you pick the lock?"

"No way man. He's got it protected pretty good with a Combomatic 8000. Those things suck."

Cissnei knew defeat when she saw it, and this was one of those times. Concluding that the 'alien mouse' was perfectly healthy, she grudgingly turned to her male comrades. "Now what?"

"Well," Reeve sighed. "We could use an emergency release system on that vest. Strap 'The Fizzler' to it, have Squeaksalot carry and plant it in our desired location, release the lever so he can get away, and have the laser light the trail of powder. He stays safe and we get to do something mega cool."

"One," she warned. "Never say mega cool again, Reeve. And two. Unless you all want to wear rhinestone sapphire pants and pink vests, we have no other options."

**Outside of Tseng's old office…**

She hoped this would work. Triple checking 'The Fizzler' and its holding device for the ten thousandth time, she grudgingly set the rodent upon the ground and stepped away, flipping on the monitor. Reno continued to smirk with excitement as the critter crawled under the newly formed hole in the door thanks to Rude's fist and began their mission. Operation Firecracker was a go.

Seconds passed, the 'Squeaker Cam' picking up a variety of disturbing images that are not appropriate for a 'T' rated fic such as this, or for the minds of certain Turks for that matter. Everything was going well, the bookcase the target for ground zero.

Until a giant boot and dark gray pant leg filled the image, the smirking image of Hollander filling the screen. Reeve screamed in horror, cowering behind an equally stunned Rude, who fought his hardest to enter 'Meditation Mode' while Cissnei and Reno struggled to figure out a back up plan.

Unfortunately, Sir Squeaksalot had his own version of the plan, his furry little body and 'The Fizzler' jetting out through the hole with the unwelcome inhabitant of Tseng's office following with a fishing net and a pair of falconing gloves.

Before the female Turk could intercept him though, he changed direction, scampering across the corridor floor and vanished into the men's restroom much to their horror. "Reno! Go get him right now!"

Hollander rushed by at a lumbering run, lab coat fluttering behind him like some sort of elegant cape.

"Can't 'Nei! It's too dangerous. We'll have to let the little guy figure this out on his own."

**Outside of the Men's bathroom, waiting for hope…**

There was no hope. Sir Squeaksalot was trapped between the back of the porcelain throne and the enraged, panicked creature known as 'The Voice'. The camera trembled as the beast seemed to ponder his options. How a guinea pig had even climbed up there was still a mystery. But then again, this was no ordinary guinea pig. This was Sir Squeaksalot, Guinea Pig of all guinea pigs.

"Sir Squeaksalot!" Cissnei cried. "Get the hell out of there right now!"

The camera moved frantically, the hiss of a laser being discharged echoing with the sizzle of gunpower and mako powder.

"Come on, Squeaky! Go little guy go!" The toilet rim rushed by, a terrified man shrieking in horror as he swatted at the little beast with a toilet paper roll. And then the splash of a furry beast falling into the bowl, a kamikaze chattering squeak shrilling through the air as he fell.

The screen erupted in a brilliant flash of light, the fading sound of the toilet's flush fading as the camera went dead.

Cissnei paled and watched the static envelope the screen in horrific realization at what she had just witnessed. Reno draped a comforting arm across her shoulder as the others remained speechless. That was the bravest rodent in all of Midgar.

"Death by toilet - who knew?"

"Guys," she warned. "We better start running. Like now!"

**Somewhere in Sector Eight, at a site of interest for the Science Department…**

Vincent Valentine hated this portion of his assignment. Inspecting Port-A-Johns was not exactly his cup of tea, but it was deemed necessary for a Turk of his caliber. Especially with rumors of savage sewer beasts and nuclear critters surfacing from the public sewer linked to these things nowadays. It was like Christmas every day for Hojo, and if Hojo was happy, the stoic Turk was happy. He never bothered to even ask why a Port-A-John was hooked up to the public sewer system, but hey, who cared right?

"What the-"

The floor leapt beneath his feet and he braced his arms against the wall in horror. And earthquake, in Midgar? What in the hell was going on here? Before he could escape, the plastic door slammed shut, locking at the "In Use" position.

A distant part of him knew, Doomsday had arrived, and the Turks were responsible…

**Desert Prison…**

Tseng bounced the tiny rubber ball against the cement wall and sighed. When was his trial again? Not soon enough, he concluded, watching the sinister group to the far corner plotting his demise with a bottle of nail polish and some perfume. He shuddered at the thought.

_"We interrupt 'The Sounds of Prison' to bring you an urgent bulletin from the Shinra News Network-"_

Tseng sat up, watching the screen flicker to an image of the Shinra Building with water and luminous pinks, feisty blues, fiery oranges, crimson reds, elegant greens, and more unusual colors shooting out of nearly every window and door, screaming civilians below mingling amongst terrified employees.

Uh oh. Now what had happened.

_"We now join amateur field correspondent Elena with the latest live at Shinra Electric Inc."_

_"Thanks Hart,"_ the blond woman on the screen acknowledged, pointing to the Shinra Building turned raging waterfall of colors. _"As you can see behind me, it is utter chaos here at ground zero where the attack took place."_

A screaming Palmer galloped across the street, colliding with a news truck behind her, twitching and muttering something incoherent as he fell.

_"Eyewitness reports state that exactly ten minutes ago, there was a rumble from beneath the plates. Amateur video from an unidentifiable source captured this. I must warn you, it is rather disturbing footage for our viewers."_

The image of a Port-A-John being fired into the air like a bottle rocket crossed the screen before flicking back to the young reporter.

_"Yes folks, what you are witnessing is a Port-A-John turned weapon of mass destruction."_ She caught sight of a disgruntled, thoroughly soaked Scarlet and Heidegger storming past and moved to intercept them. _"Excuse me! Shinra Network News! Can I ask a few questions."_

Scarlet pushed her out of the way and continued walking. Heidegger continued to tremble following her lead.

_"Never mind. As you can tell folks here are terrified over the recent 'Attack of the toilets as it is being called.' The rumors of plumbers being sent from all over the world is offering little comfort to anyone here at ground zero. Oh! Sir!_" She hurried after what appeared to be a brooding man in a midnight blue suit, hair plastered against his pale face as he marched towards the building, clipboard and Death Penalty in hand, toilet paper trailing from his shoe.

_"What?"_ his crimson eyes flared. _"Can't you see I'm on my way to murder a few suspects of interest?"_

The way he said suspects made her take a step away.

_"Is it true that AVALANCHE could have sunk low enough to turn toilets against civilians? What's being done to handle the situation?"_

Vincent scowled, looking towards the sliding revolving doors creating a sort of whirlpool effect amidst the whistles and explosions of fireworks being set off, the remnants of several porcelain thrones falling across the sectors in a shower of sparkles.

_"Ten thousand toilets erupt in perfect synchronization and you're asking ME what's being done? How in the hell would I know? I rode a Port-A-John halfway to the stratosphere lady! Now, move out of my way so I can figure out who in the hell is responsible for this fiasco!" _he stormed off, mentally picturing each of the culprits.

Elena turned back to the cameras.

_"There you have it. It is officially Doomsday here in Midgar. This is Elena Delores reporting live from Midgar. We'll bring you further updates as they become available. Until then, beware the wrath of the porcelain gods."_

Tseng stood up, momentarily startling the already stunned convicts who regarded the bathroom in terror. He turned to the guard, deadly serious look about him.

"I need to make a phone call."

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**The aftermath of "Attack of the Killer Toilets..."**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	27. Mission 27 Operation Air Freshener

**Hey there folks. This is one of my infamous filler missions that I wrote just because I could. :P Hopefully you'll enjoy it while I work a much better mission for ya'll to enjoy. If the planets align, Reno stops licking the monitor screen, and Hojo stops trying to dissect that cute little iguana in the corner, you might have another chapter by the end of the week. Two even. Until then, enjoy this quick one. **

**Mission Twenty Seven - Operation Air Freshener**

He wasn't quite certain whether to file this under Mission Accomplished, or Mission Horribly Failed. His obsidian and hazel eyes scanned the charred floor, the hideous mauve carpet still damp from the rivers of water that had cascaded through earlier in the day. Pieces of tattered, damp records were plastered against the scorched walls, pencils littering the floor. A desk was overturned against a doorframe, a quivering member of AVALANCHE seated atop it, looking around as though he expected the entire floor to become a river once again. From what the lead Turk could gather, the crawlspace was still flooded, leaving the inhabitant relatively homeless.

He looked over a small list of things in his own handwriting.

They had done an impressive job on destroying whatever it was they had intended on destroying in the first place. He had to award points for effort. But, he also had to take them away for leaving most of the dorm rooms farther down the building uninhabitable.

This was the first time his Turks had managed to make a mission end in a draw.

He pushed the door to Reeve's office open with a scowl once again, maneuvering towards the overturned desk where a fresh pile of paperwork resided, the first of which was an urgent personnel meeting occurring in about, oh, five minutes from now. He swore. His first day out of prison and he was required to attend a board meeting already? Gathering his sodden little black book from the splintered drawer, he swiped a pen from the floor and began walking towards the stairs.

Walking in typical Turk fashion towards him, shoulder to shoulder, stride for stride, were the three suspects to this entire fiasco. They halted with various reactions to his scowl, the bald one trying to distract himself by reading the memos tacked to the wall regarding upcoming Shinra functions. Looked like there was going to be a company Camping Trip next month, and a good old fashioned Department Inspection too. He smiled. Two for one day at Goblin's with this coupon. He'd have to remember to swipe that one for himself.

His comrades, however, did not appear to share his enthusiasm for the wall. If anything, they looked, dare he even think it, almost defeated by the events of the past twenty four hours.

"Alright you three. What did you do now?" Tseng tapped his foot against the soggy carpet and crossed his arms like a reprimanding father scolding his children.

Reno and Cissnei exchanged glances, not quite sure who should do the explaining and who should do the groveling for mercy.

"Well Sir-" the female Turk began, averting her eyes and trying to come up with a decent, believable story for her superior officer. "This really wasn't supposed to-"

Reno draped an arm over his comrade's shoulders with a half hearted grin. "Told ya I'd find a way to get you out of there yo."

For a moment, Tseng merely stared at the two red heads. They were hiding something sinister. That much he was sure of. As to exactly what that was though, he wasn't sure if he wanted to get the 'specifics' from his superiors first and then grill the culprits for the truth, or do some grilling first and ask questions later. Either way, someone was not going to be happy by the end of the day.

"You three," he marched towards the stairs, trying to ignore the **'out of order'** sign taped to the elevators. "Clean this mess up and try not to look so pathetic. That's SOLDIER's job. For the love of Holy, do not do anything other than clean until I get back."

**The board room, or rather, what remains of it…**

It was Scarlet who noticed the presence of the recently released Turk first. Carrying an umbrella for extra protection against unexpected downpours from the vent above her section of the table, she glared one of her infamous glares and pointed towards the remaining elite jackasses lining the table.

Tseng adjusted his tie as calmly as he possibly could given the circumstances and took his seat, somewhat surprised to Mr. Shinra pacing the head of the table in a rain coat and waders. In fact, he looked around. He was the only one dressed semi sane today.

"Nice of you to be able to join us, Tseng. I trust you have been informed of the situation?" President Shinra singled him out with that all knowing look about him. It was the same look he had seen moments after shooting Palmer's coffee cup and got them all into this mess to begin with. Either way, he tried to make himself look smaller against his chair and nodded, providing the TV report heralded any sense of truth behind the attack of the toilets. "Good. Lazard. Please brief us on the details of what happened."

Lazard stood up in a flamboyant, yet tasteful pair of raspberry red waders and adjusted his matching hat, uncovering a rejected third grade science fair project he must have swiped from some elementary school. Stealing a set of pick up sticks from Heidegger's "Things to keep an idiot busy" box, he began pointing to the crudely drawn stick figures taped to the cardboard.

"As you can see, at exactly such and such a time last night, we were holding a board meeting, discussing the fundamentals of the current fiscal budget that hasn't been balanced in years, when-" the pointer tapped the outrageously crude photoshopped big breasted picture of Scarlet downloaded from the Shinra Company Website "Something touched Scarlet's foot."

Tseng rubbed his forehead with a groan. Could they ever have one meeting without feet being mentioned? Lazard continued tapping the board to get everyone's attention.

"It appears the source of this toe attack might be related to those strange glowing lights in Modeoheim." The way the light caught the SOLDIER director's glasses sent a chill down his spine. Hadn't they already solved that mystery as being some rednecks with flare guns?

He raised his hand like all good Turk leaders should.

"Yes, Tseng?"

"We established that those lights were nothing more than a bunch of drunken SOLDIERS, Genesis Rhapsados and Angeal Hewley to be exact, running through the snow drifts without pants and drinking way too much hot cocoa. If I recall correctly there was also a snowboard and a certain blonde haired director involved-"

Lazard glared at the Turk, holding the stick at the tiny dot in the center of his forehead. "Ladies and other useless NPCs, as you can clearly see, the aliens have abducted and brainwashed some of our finest for their own sick twisted alien experiments!"

Tseng raised an eyebrow as Lazard leaned closer. If anyone needed a breath mint it was the blond one.

"Tseng, where were you last night?"

"Desert Prison doing things I'll never be proud of nor be able to wash from my emotionally wrecked mind until I die. I believe you received a memo about that." He pushed the stick away, only to find it back again a split second later, his 'comrades' crowding closer for a better look.

"As you can see folks, he is not in his rightful mind. This dot upon his forehead is the remnants of the alien's spy camera."

"That dot is a Wutainese custom amongst my people. I've had it for years." Somehow, he began to feel that he had said the wrong thing. Especially when Heidegger tried to climb through a window in terrified retreat and Scarlet assaulted him with cotton candy body spray. He still wasn't certain just where Palmer had vanished to, but he figured that it had something to do with the truck on the news.

"Holy, Meteor, Ancients dancing in the Lost City!" President Shinra dropped his soda with wide eyes. "The aliens have been spying on us for years! Hojo! Hollander! Remove the spy camera from this man's brain! Heidegger, Scarlet, declare war on Wutai!"

Hojo rubbed his hands together with a gleeful look. Hollander remained smug, pulling out a nuclear rocket from his bag and aiming for the perplexed Turk.

And, it became painfully apparent, that he was working for a bunch of idiots…

"Wait," he stood up, managing to put a few feet of distance between himself and the scientists. "I'm not an alien!"

"That's what they all say, Suit Boy," Hollander began dialing in the codes for the rocket. "Now stand still. Your skin will melt off of the bones for twenty quick minutes and then you'll be a happy puddle of goo."

He reminded himself to release Reno's phone number to every yaoi starved creature on the planet if he survived this. Why had he left Desert Prison again? Right, those people he called 'subordinates'. "Let's all calm down people and think rationally…"

Hojo hopped up and down on the table, salivating wildly as he jotted stuff down on a clipboard. Tseng was pretty sure the man was overdue for a rabies shot if he was not already infected. This had gone far enough.

"The alien appears peaceful, if not cooperative. Pity he will be a pile of goo in about three seconds-"

And then, Tseng did something he himself did not think he was capable of doing. He climbed up on the boardroom table, calmly stepped over to Hojo, and punched him in the nose. A stunned silence fell over the remaining Shinra executives as the rabid scientist fell with a less than satisfying thud right onto Rufus, who had been busy folding an origami rose. "What? You cannot say that he wasn't starting to piss you off."

"The alien-" Lazard began, but was quickly silenced by President Shinra using a notebook for a shield.

"Spare us oh well dressed creature of another world. We humbly request that you let us live."

Tseng sighed. Why had he left the fish farm again? Right. He wanted to be a somebody in the world. "For the love of Holy and Leviathan. If I was an alien, which I am not, I would not be here trying to murder you miserable peons. I'd be more worried about why 10,000 toilets turned on the miserable inhabitants that represent mankind."

He took his seat and tapped his pen against the blank sheet of paper, watching his comrades resume their meeting, somewhat floored by his words regarding aliens and that he did not have a ray gun pointed at their heads. Although, he thought, a ray gun might have been cool regardless of his status of an alien.

"Ahem, anyway, as you can see," Lazard set the project up again and continued lecturing. "It appears that the first of the aliens appeared under this very table. Scarlet, please tell me what you saw."

She turned a sickly shade of pale. "It. Was. A. Mako-tinted mechanical robot rat! Holy it was terrifying!"

Hollander nodded. "It fired a laser beam at me in the bathroom!"

Now Tseng was interested. Those lights looked an awful lot like fireworks now that it was mentioned. And a robotic rat? There was no such thing. He'd have to ask about this one when he saw his Turks again. That or find out just what his superiors were drinking on the side.

"Okay," he wrote everything down, safely assuming his department would be charged with investigating this incident. No one else was unfortunate enough to end up with it. "So there was a robotic rat that had a laser. Any suspects in the matter?"

President Shinra blushed. "I was hoping your Turks would know. After all, one of them was injured in a Port-A-John related incident."

Fantastic. He's have to ask Vincent now too. Someone was not going to be happy. A brief thought crossed his mind. Wait. If the Turks weren't suspected of blowing up the Midgarian Sewer system and all toilets within a four mile radius, then, could they also be innocent? He pushed the thought aside. No. Where there were fireworks, there were Turks. And where there were Turks, there was a problem.

"I'll ask Mr. Valentine what he saw. Now," he continued drawing a picture of a toilet with a firework being shot out of it. "Damage estimates?"

"About a billion or so gil. We don't know yet. The dorms are a complete wreck. There were wieners and beans everywhere in the cafeteria! Holy it was a nightmare!"

Tseng finished his report and folded the black book shut, noting the worried, yet intrigued look about President Shinra, who laced his fingers together and surveyed his board like a king to his peasants.

"So, Sir," he asked his superior. "What do you want my department to do?"

For a moment, silence. And then, with the slowness of a sloth trying to crawl across a tree branch, he stood and turned towards the broken windows, watching the sprawling city beneath him.

"The only thing we can do Tseng. We need to launch an attack against these toilet menaces."

"Excuse me Sir?" Had he heard that right? Attack the toilets in retaliation?

"Yes Tseng. The end times are here at last. Man's greatest invention has turned against him. We must strike before this epidemic spreads to the far reaches of the world. That is why," he produced a piece of elaborate paper. "We are declaring war upon the porcelain thrones that have crippled this empire. No flusher shall not be flushed! No seat left up! No bowl left unbrushed! And you are going to lead it."

The lead Turk paled. "Me Sir?"

"I need your people Tseng now than ever," he stood before the frazzled Turk with a pleading in his eyes. "They know how to program the security system VCR. They can go where no Turk has boldly gone before!"

"Um, Sir, not to be rude, but the last time I sent Reno and Cissnei into the sewers, the took out a helicopter with a flaming flower cart and put me in the hospital for a week."

The president grasped his shoulders and shook him. "That is why I need them for this. The aliens will be expecting calm SOLDIERs. I need insane Turks! They'll even be issued a special weapon for the job. You and your Turks are to meet Hojo tomorrow morning at Lab 15S for the unveiling of, 'The Flushenator."

Tseng raised an eyebrow in defeat. Mr. Shinra was serious about this whole thing. With a sigh, his own name became inscribed upon what he could only assume was his death sentence along with the others in attendance. The War Against Toilets had officially been declared.

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Behold! The Department of Administrative Research. Boldly going where no Turk has gone before! **

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	28. Mission 28 Operation Closet Space

**Whoa, I don't think I've ever gotten that many reviews in a single day before…Awesome. : ) Enjoy the randomness that keeps ya'll reading! Heh heh heh.**

**Mission Twenty Eight - Closet Space**

Now he knew exactly why Commander Veld had retired. It hadn't even been the "Hey, I'm old. I'm happy. I'm headed to Costa Del Sol for the rest of my life" sort of retirement, but more of the "I'm getting the hell out of here right now and giving it all to the next poor idiot who walks through that door."

Unfortunately, Tseng scowled. He had been the one to walk through that door, and had been paying for it ever since by the paperwork now clutched in his pale hands, a dying flashlight beam dancing over the strip of red tape, revealing the barely legible writing scrawled across its surface. Just as he feared, President Shinra was serious about this War on Toilets as it was meant to be inscribed within the pages of Gaian history as. And worse yet, his department was to be named as the frontrunner in leading it.

There was a soft curse from his left, the sound of something being shoved against the wall echoing with a crack. He glanced up from what could very well be the strangest orders of his career and shined the dying flashlight beam over the area, watching as it plunged the area into darkness once again. Damn eighty eight cent dollar store batteries.

"Sir-" He raised an eyebrow, the shaft of a mop striking his shoulder as the unfortunate female Turk tried to keep it from falling against her own shoulder once more. "Is there any purpose as to why we must meet in a broom closest at this hour? I mean, Reeve's office would have sufficed for the same purpose."

"It is necessary for this mission. I want no one seeing us together."

A series of grumbling swear words could be heard from the youngest Turk as she once again attempted to combat the various articles of cleaning supplies attempting to attack her from the crowded shelving unit. The swish of movement from the right corner made him jump in surprise.

"If you wanted to have an unusual, yet interesting affair with any one of us, I am confident Reeve's desk might be a little more, what's the word Vincent?"

The stoic Turk snarled from somewhere in the darkness at his bald headed companion.

"Accommodating," he replied, fingernails scratching over what he assumed was the door in search of an easy escape route. "Personally, this is just disturbing, even for a Turk."

"How do you think I feel about this whole thing?" the lead Turk snarled, waving the folder through the air and hitting someone, although he wasn't exactly certain who, alongside the head.

"Gee boss. I don't know," Reno quipped from what sounded like beneath the opposite shelf. "You're in a broom closest full of good looking agile men in suits - Cissnei, please tell me those are your breasts touching my spine..."

"She's ignoring you for a mop," Tseng replied, imagining the red haired menace looking somewhat offended at the words. Cissnei, more for her own sanity than that of her comrades, chose only to answer with an inaudible grumble that no doubt insulted them in some way.

For a moment, there was silence amongst the five Turks, Reno calmly reaching out to feel just who was behind him, touching only sweaty skin.

"Sweet yo. I'm advancing on the man ladder now! Making out in a broom closest counts right Rude?" He was starting to sound desperate, making Tseng take a step away for fear that something more humiliating was about to happen to him. The balding man muttered something of an agreement, seemingly assisting Vincent in trying to locate the exit. He rattled the batteries in the flashlight, trying to elicit even a fraction of light.

"I believe 'making out' in a broom closest requires a person of the opposite gender - stop touching me like that!"

"Sorry, Vincent." The sound of shuffling feet amidst the darkness. "Where are you, Cissnei?"

"Go to hell, Reno," came the reply from the far corner. "According to your logic, I'm now considered a man. Therefore, I'm off limits yaoi boy."

Tseng rubbed his forehead to quell a brewing headache as the flashlight refused to cooperate. This had sounded like a good idea at the time.

"But you're a very feminine man! I mean-"

The sound of one person being slapped echoed through the darkness. "Touch me again and I'll rip your face off."

"Sorry, Vincent. Thought you were a girl."

A pair of unsettling eyes could be felt glaring at the unfortunate leader of the Turks. He shook the flashlight in self defense.

"Can I shoot him yet? I promise to dispose of his corpse according to protocol. Please?"

An exasperated grumble echoed from somewhere in the darkness, making Tseng wipe the back of his hand across his brow in vain attempt to resist the urge to draw his own gun upon whatever was now touching, or moreso climbing his left pant leg. "No shooting anyone until I get this flashlight working. I want first shot."

Reno continued to feel through the darkness with his hands in front of him, trying to figure out who was where and what was what. A bottle of standard pine scented cleaner splashed across his blazer making him curse in surprise and stagger back into the sweaty creature he had originally identified as 'Vincent'.

"Yo Vince, are you standing beside me?" he inquired, tracing the solid wall in front of him.

"How in the hell would I know? I'm trying to feel around for the door- Damn it Holy mother Jenova Sephiroth-"

"Hands off my mop!"

"Ooo, getting kinky in the corner are we now? Can I join?"

Tseng clicked the trigger of the pistol he carried on him for just such emergencies in warning.

"All of you knock it off - Who's touching my leg?" He shuddered at the ominous silence that settled for a few seconds until Reno gave a nervous half-hesitant laugh.

"Rude-" The slight hesitance in the red head's tone send chills down everyone's spine. "Please tell me you removed your shirt. That, or Cissnei's been working out a lot at the gym."

"Heh heh heh."

Immediately, the sound of any and all available weapons being trained on the strange voice in the center of the broom closet filled the air. Sparks flew from the EMR being activated, forcing Rude into a stumbling retreat into the far corner, accidentally pinning both Vincent and Cissnei to the wall, the mop being thrown to the ground at an awkward angle. Tseng shouted in surprise and pain, the pistol's trigger activating in an explosion of noise, deafening the area for several long seconds.

The hesitant sound of several Turks attempting to untangle themselves from one another in swift retreat filled the air, followed by frantic scratching at the door. He sighed. These people were worse than a pack of cowardly kittens sometimes. There was a click, as though one of his loveable rejects had discovered something of interest.

"Um, sir?"

"What now, Cissnei?"

"We have a problem, a big one," she began, frantically searching for something. "The doorknob's broken."

Vincent's swearing drowned out anything their oh-so-great leader was about to say. "You bastard! You broke my knob!"

"T-rated fic! T-rated fic!" Tseng attempted to corral the crisis into something more manageable, finding only panic. And then, his hand touched sweaty skin. He paled, hesitantly turning towards the person standing in the center of the room. "Who in the hell are-"

Reno screamed in realization first, tearing across the limited space available with a single jump and handed the mop to who he assumed to be his auburn haired companion in hopes she could defend him against the muscular menace lurking in the shadows.

"What in the hell? Reno?"

"Ewwww! Man boobs! Man boobs were touching my spine! Ewww! Ewww! Ewwww!"

Tseng retrieved the mop in one swift motion, jabbing it blindly into the darkness.

"My sunglasses!"

"Sorry, Rude."

"I'm going to rip your spleen out next time you even think about it."

"My apologies, Vincent."

"Sir, he's in the other direction."

"Thanks, Cissnei. Now," Tseng, feeling confident he had narrowed down his list of who was where to who wasn't in front of him, turned towards the menace with as fierce of a snarl as he possibly could given the circumstances. "Who, or what are you?"

The muscular creature struck a pose no one could see.

"I am Bob! Leader of the Costa Del Sol Baywatch and eight time centerfold for the HoneyBee Monthly."

Reno shoved Cissnei towards the man known as Bob as a peace offering.

"Here ya go Bob. Your beautiful little beach goddess-" There was the sound of a fist striking someone's jaw. "Or not."

Tseng merely sighed. SOLDIER had never managed to lock itself in a broom closet with a partially nude male model from the HoneyBee Inn. Why didn't he run when he had the chance? More importantly, why was this Bob guy still here? Hadn't they dropped him off back at the beach shortly after the incident with the cookout?

He leaned against the shelf and began pondering his options. Complete and utter catastrophe. There were no other words to describe it. "Cissnei."

"Whatever it is, the answer is no in advance."

Reno whistled casually. "She sure told you."

Tseng glared, fumbling for a pen and piece of manila folder he had managed to tear off of the orders.

"Once we get out of here, I'm sure Reno will be more than happy to entertain you for a while Mr. Bob, Sir." The snickers of his fellow Turks could be heard, each picturing their own version of what expression was upon the red head's face at this very moment. "Cissnei, call this number for me."

"With all due respect Sir, you really need to replace your phone. This is getting annoying," she searched her blazer pocket for the annoying piece of plastic capable of ringing at the worst possible moments, locating it, and flipping it open to dial the number she already knew by heart, only to scowl at the lack of a dial tone. "Could someone please explain to me why we have phones that get absolutely no service where we need it when we need it?"

"I could get you all service-"

What sounded like one very irritated leader of the Turks dropkicking a partially nude man made everyone rethink anything they were going to say in response.

"Wait," she held the phone above her head, closer to the scrub brushes, using a bucket for a stepladder. "I think I got something. Maybe? No? Yes! It's not much, but I think I can make a phone call."

Tseng climbed up beside her, kicking Reno in the chest and trying to avoid Rude and Vincent, who had been quieter than usual for a while. "Good. Let me do the talking."

"Are you sure that's wise sir? I mean, the reception's probably going to-"

He grit his teeth and glared through the darkness. "I know how to use a phone, Cissnei. How do I turn the backlight on?"

"That model doesn't have one. You have to press 0 to dial and then my passcode, and then the number you want to dial. Hit the little button on the top left to connect the call. But, sir, make sure you press 3 first or you'll end up calling-"

"I know what I'm doing, Cissnei. I can handle a simple phone call." She merely rolled her eyes and jumped down from the bucket to wait for the inevitable.

**SOLDIER Director's Office…**

They sat around the table with various looks of concentration etched upon their faces. There it was, sitting, waiting to be touched by human hands. Fresh from the manufacturer's machines and solely their property. Rufus would have to get his own.

Angeal held the pair of forceps over the open flame candle, watching the germs melt off of the edges and disintegrate into a plum of smoke. Today, he allowed a rare smile. Today was the day he had waited ten years for.

"This is gonna be so great, Angeal!" Zack practically bounded onto the table, earning a shove from the man.

"Down Puppy."

"Ah man. But I wanna see too!"

Sephiroth smirked and tossed his silver mane over his shoulders. "And, in time you shall. It is unfortunate that Genesis could not be here to witness this great day."

"Truly a sad occurrence indeed. He's been missing for a while now. So tragic. Now let's do this boys. Our very sanity depends upon it." Lazard took his standard place at the head of the desk and double checked the room. Hopefully, no exploding toilets would interrupt this moment again.

Sephiroth swiped the forceps from his incompetent comrade.

"Wuss. Let a real man handle this sort of mission. Okay," he took a deep breath and grasped the edge of the piece of paper as though it might crumble like an ancient parchment. "May I present to you the final chapter in the epic that has snared every young boy's mind since its creation more than a decade ago. The last and final chapter of - The S Files."

There was a gasp of awe as the general carefully flipped the page open, revealing a series of neatly penned drawings with various characters posing with the highest level of coolness possible.

"Oh yeah. This is what it's all about!" The SOLDIERs crowded closer together to read the addicting comic.

"I heard that Agent R finally learns Agent C's real name in this edition."

"Shut up." The point of MasaMune was at the youngster's throat. "You spoil it for me, you die. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yep," Zack cowered slightly, enthusiastically reading the panels. "Man, I would love to meet the guy who writes these things. He must be some genius."

Angeal glared. "I am trying to enjoy the pictures. Now either be quiet or I lock you in your cage and you don't get to see this at all."

There was a shrill noise from Lazard's desk, startling everyone.

"Ignore it," Sephiroth warned, turning the next page eagerly. "They can call back later."

"Lazard here."

The three SOLDIERs exchanged glances. Hadn't they just said to ignore it. Shaking his head at their incompetent leader, they returned to their comic.

"Uh huh. Yep. What was that? Really? Fantastic," he spun the swivel chair around and continued to listen to the frustrated person on the other end of the line. "Sure. Sure. We'll be right there. I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last part - Oh. Okay. Sounds like fun. See you in a bit."

The phone clicked as it was returned to the holder and he adjusted his spectacles.

"Wonderful news everyone!" He clapped his white gloves together in glee. "That was Tseng. He needs our help in getting both himself and his subordinates out of the closest."

Sephiroth dropped the forceps in surprise as Angeal nearly fell out of his chair. Zack looked around confused at his superiors' behaviors.

"Tseng? What in the name of Meteor would he want to come out of the closet for? He's not even in the closet to begin with. Valentine might be, but Tseng, no way."

Angeal nodded. "And that Reno kid. But I cannot picture any of the others being even remotely close. Are you _sure_ you heard that right? _All_ of them? Even the chick?"

"The telephone doesn't lie."

Sephiroth shrugged, carefully placing the comic back into its indestructible casing for after this brief mini mission. Agent C's real name could wait a few more moments he supposed. "Fair, grab that camera. I want this for the Shinra scrapbook."

**Back in the Closest…**

Cissnei sighed and tucked her phone back in her pocket. Something just felt wrong about that phone call. "Sir, are you sure you got the right number?"

"Yes. Rest assured that help is finally on the way. All we have to do is wait."

Vincent grumbled and kicked the door in frustration. He severely hated his job. Hojo never locked anyone in a closet.

"Hmmm."

"What's up, Rude?" Reno tapped his EMR lazily against the shelf, keeping an eye on the muscular man known as Bob who crept closer every few seconds.

"You did dial 3 first Tseng?"

"Oh course I did! Why would I neglect a minor detail like that? If I hadn't I would have called -" He froze in horror, invisible ice cubes forming along his spine. "Cissnei. Hand me that phone again."

Being the good little Turk she was, she once again found reception for it and handed it back to her superior, listening as he frantically tried to reconnect with the person he had unintentionally called the first time. Only the lonely sound of ringing on the other end responded.

"Boss," Reno hesitated, unsure if he even wanted to know this time. "What's gonna happen to us yo? I mean, you did call for help and all-"

Vincent body slammed the door in desperation, realizing just what Tseng had done. How was he ever going to recover from something like this? Even Hojo would never forgive him. And Lucrecia. Oh dear Holy. He'd never take her on that picnic now.

"Hey, watch it, Vincent!"

"No time," he grumbled. "Must escape. Sephiroth will mock me."

Rude and Cissnei exchanged glanced in the darkness, joining their comrade in attempting for forced the door open. In about ten minutes, anywhere from three to four yaoi studying SOLDIERs and possibly an infantryman were going to show up outside that door, probably with a camera, ready to mock them with something that was a dramatic misunderstanding and foobar of a plan to begin with.

**Ten agonizingly slow minutes later…**

Four Turks sat, one per corner, awaiting their doom. Tseng, elected to stand beside Bob in the center, found himself thinking about where he could flee to once this whole thing was over with and his dignity lost in the pathetic events sure to follow. First a war on toilets, and now, this. He clutched the special mission folder to his chest as the sound of footsteps approached.

Every Turk remained silent, no doubt trying to figure how they were going to explain this in their own words. The sound of a knob turning, the hinges creaking, and then a brilliant flash of light from the outer world to reveal none other than -

"This isn't what it looks like." The five Turks and Bob exclaimed at the same time.

Reeve raised an eyebrow in surprise, dropping the empty soap tray in surprise. Blinking several times, he quickly shut the door and reopened it. Same sight. Now he really was confused. Why were they in a broom closest of all places? More importantly, who was this Bob fellow?

Tseng watched his subordinates creep past the befuddled engineer and make a run for it. With any luck, they would make their way over to Hojo's lab as originally ordered. But then again, after today, he figured he would be fortunate if they even stayed in the building.

"Why are you in a closet?"

"It's a long story," he tried to explain, shutting the door quickly and leading Reeve away from it to prevent Bob from being released. "Hey, listen. Reeve. Old buddy old pal. I have a big favor to ask of you."

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**And they called it...The Flushenator!**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :)**


	29. Special Operation Flushenator

**Hey there folks! We're back presenting you yet another special mission from our favorite branch of the Shinra Corporation. So sit back with your bowl of popcorn and enjoy the ride. (On a side note: You might have to wait for a few mission updates. I've been pretty busy lately and haven't had the time to actually sit down and write as usual. Rest assured, I've got plenty of upcoming ideas you're all gonna enjoy - and yes, Rude will have better parts than he did in this mission. And the missions will be funnier than this one. Just gotta find time to write them though.) :P **

**Special Operation _Flushenator_**

It was the most sophisticated weapon ever to be drawn on the mad scientists' etch-a-sketches. Designed with the wielder in mind, it's rubberized handle allowed for maximum range when in combat and a rapid-fire trigger with four different settings on a cool little spinning dial added an extra sense of security. It even had a rather amusing shoulder strap with the words "Flushenator 2008" embroidered into its fabric with a pouch for an optional air freshener.

Tseng was the type of man who held every challenge to the highest regards with the utmost attention to details. He crossed every 't' and dotted every 'I', hooked the 'y's and curled the 'c's. Every letter to every word and every word to every sentence, lodged in his brain like a bad karaoke song that replayed over and over and over again on the same annoying note that sounded suspiciously like that Star Wars theme from the movie night on Tuesday. But, as he stood in the cobweb crusted corridor just outside the lab with various danger signs drawn in crayon clinging to most of the walls and a line of crime scene caution tape strung like a party banner atop the large, open metallic doors, he seriously began to wonder if he must have missed something rather important in that Special Mission folder when the flashlight went out.

"It's a frigging plunger yo."

Hojo hopped up and down in front of the pedestal where the mighty weapon resided in its Plexiglas case with the brilliant lights streaming down around it, clapping his hands together in frustration to the red haired menace leaning casually against the wall.

"It is not a plunger! It is the most sophisticated weapon of the century!"

Hollander gave an indignant grunt to back his comrade up as Tseng stepped protectively between both mad scientists and the three creatures he felt strangely compelled to defend at this point, holding the mission folder as a shield.

"Dude, it's still a plunger. We all have one. Standard issue from the company yo."

"This is not a plunger!"

A vial of odd looking liquid shattered against the wall, coating Reno's blazer in its florescent glow.

"Yeah it is," he dabbed at the liquid with his handkerchief. "Looks like a plunger; smells like a plunger; acts like a plunger; must be a plunger."

Tseng took a step back as Hojo hopped even higher, ponytail flailing helplessly in the breeze created in the drafty laboratory, only to be restrained by Hollander.

"Let it go. These miserable peons cannot even begin to understand the fine art of the plunge like we do."

Vincent exchanged a look with Rude that he hadn't even used before. Had Hollander just referred to plunging a toilet as an art? The silent look returned to him confirmed his suspicions and he retreated to the side wall to sulk. Tseng flipped the folder open and reread the orders, praying that he had originally read them wrong to begin with and was now in the wrong area of the building. No, he was in the right place at the correct time. Unfortunately.

"Just give us the weapon so we can do this already." Hojo snarled and hopped even higher making the elder Turk strongly considering mentioning something about limiting the science department's access to the soda machine and all other forms of sugar. Then again, he did recall reading somewhere that caffeine and sugar actually restricted Hojo's personality. Eliminating the only catalyst keeping him controllable might not be a good thing.

"You don't have the required license to wield such a powerful weapon."

"What?" He checked the orders again. Since when did you need a license to operate a plunger? "This is a matter of national security! Of course I have the proper credentials to do this. President Shinra signed it himself!"

"Just because some overweight, lard eating-"

"You're thinking of Palmer," he cringed at the thought of saying the name out loud. "I was talking about the other overweight one who signs my paycheck. You were there. You know why we're here."

Holland scratched his beard as though actually thinking for a moment, studying Tseng with those beady eyes that possessed a glint of intelligent thought every so often. As though arriving at a conclusion only he could think of, he turned towards the _Flushenator_ and picked it up. Hojo scrambled halfway up a wall in protest.

"You can't give the plunger of the gods to these incompetent failures!"

"Actually-" Reno smirked, "we're professionals."

Tseng shot him a look to remain quiet and stepped forward to receive the almighty blessing of such a holy weapon. It was like being knighted in some weird, odd, strange, disturbing sort of way. Only, instead of a sword, it was the bane of toilets everywhere. He turned towards the three males behind him, holding the _Flushenator_ as though it were the most fragile of items in existence and motioned for them to retreat for the safety of the stairwell despite the protests of the insane scientist.

**Outside the lab**

Cissnei could not help but raise an eyebrow at the state of her comrades as they crowded through the door, clutching what appeared to be an over-glorified toilet plunger. Rude frantically locked the door behind him, the sound of an enraged scientist trying to chew through the metal screeching wildly in such closed corridors. Vincent aimed the Death Penalty at the door, just in case, and took step backwards, gesturing to the stairs with a sense that meant only one thing - run like Ifrit was chasing you.

And they did, not stopping until they were safely back on their floor and the youngest Turk had changed every passcode so no mad scientist could unscramble it. As she finished changing the last password, she could not help but glance at her superior, staring at the item in question spread across Reeve's desk.

"I take it that it is in my best interest to keep my thoughts to myself?"

"Smart girl."

"With all due respect, Sir, I believe we have one of those in our maintenance closet."

Reno peered through the door. "Nah, those scientists claim this is the plunger of the gods, 'Nei. Not just any mere mortal may wield it yo."

She blinked and studied the weapon once more before looking towards Rude. "I need to accompany them more often, don't I?"

He could only nod in response, dodging a glare from Tseng, who slammed a thick manual against the desk and tried to read the tiny font of the first page, giving up just as quickly.

"Cissnei," he tossed the manual to the female Turk. "It is a matter of national security that this manual be read and studied to the fullest extent."

Grumbling, she seized the manual and flipped it open to the table of contents, scanning them briefly before slowly looking up at Tseng. "Seven hundred pages on the fundamentals of owning and operating the simplest of the plumbing instruments? Sir, did you even _have_ your coffee this morning?"

"Unfortunately, I had four. Now go read that and then try to explain how this works to us."

She sighed and opened it to chapter one, **"_The basics"_**. "Fine, but I expect that long overdue day off for this."

"You'll have several. Now-" he leaned over the desk with Rude, Reno, and Vincent while Reeve calculated the odds of this turning out well, ending up with negative numbers. "How do we start this thing?"

"It says there's some sort of pull cord thingy towards the back part of it."

Tseng reached for the back, but thought better of it at the last minute, instead gesturing to Reno. "On second thought, you're the chosen one for this type of mission."

"What the hell? It's a plunger. I can't-"

Vincent stepped over and picked it up, grasping the pull cord. "Step aside boy. Let a real man handle this."

Reno shouldered his way past Rude and stripped of his blazer, rolling up his sleeves at the challenge. With fire in his eyes, he grasped the_ Flushenator_ from Vincent's grasp and looked towards the auburn haired Turk holding the instructions. "Oh no you don't Vampire Boy. This is my chance at the manhood ladder. Alright Cissnei, what do I have to do?"

Somehow, she figured this was going to be a bad idea no matter how she tried to explain it. As though sensing her doubt, Tseng nodded for her to continue, taking several steps out of the immediate danger zone. A Turk like Reno armed with something that could ultimate do more harm than good was a reason to be scared.

"Okay," she studied the diagram and reached for a magnifying glass. "You have to pull the cord four times and then flip the little switch on the left. Wait!"

He paused, the cord in his hand.

"Safety glasses."

"Aw hell, Cissnei. I don't need safety glasses."

She sighed. "Yes, you do. It says so right here on the first page. Users are strongly advised to wear safety glasses and equipment at all times while operating the _Flushenator_ as there is a ninety nine percent chance of fatality resulting from use."

He smirked. "It says 'strongly advised'. That translates to 'optional'. Come on 'Nei, it's a plunger. Nothing bad's gonna happen to me. Now keep reading."

Once again she looked to Tseng for guidance, a nagging, instinctive part of her warning her to just flee for her life right now, or suffer the consequences. He seemed to have retreated even further into the corridor, using the door as a shield with Rude cowering behind him. Reeve merely shrugged and leaned against the file cabinets. It wasn't as though he wasn't already dead anyway. Might as well enjoy the show. Then again -

He moved his chair out of range, effectively leaving Cissnei and Reno in the center of the room to figure this whole thing out.

"Maybe you guys should have asked Hojo and Hollander how this works when you had the chance."

"Stop being a sissified girl and let's do this already."

"Well excuse me!" she flipped to the next set of instructions with a murderous glare. "I can't help it someone needs to take caution into consideration before the idiot men do something stupid. Now pull the cord and flip the switch."

Reno smirked as Tseng rubbed his forehead in vain attempt to prevent himself from drawing his pistol and firing a random shot into the air long enough to allow Vincent to regain control of the weapon. Telling Reno to do something like that was just inviting trouble to follow.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

He pulled the cord with a tad too much enthusiasm and flipped the switch as ordered.

Nothing happened.

He tried again. Same result. Somewhat puzzled, he looked towards his comrade, as though her frantic skimming through the manual to the troubleshooting section was an oddity in itself.

"Perhaps you need to be an actual plumber?" Reeve suggested.

At this, an impish smile once again began to cross the red head's face. Before any of his comrades could react, he undid his belt and hitched his pants down far enough to reveal an unpleasant sight. Cissnei swore and hid her eyes in the manual in vain attempt to ease the emotional scarring taking place. That was an image she would never be able to wipe from her mind.

Tseng drew his pistol and fired, sending the engineer fleeing for his life into the crawlspace with the terrified AVALANCHE member.

"For the love of all that is Holy to Leviathan, pull your pants back up and hide that from view before I have to enroll even more of you into therapy."

Reno, much to the elder Turk's dismay, proceeded to reattempt activation of the _Flushenator_ instead of doing as told. "But all great plumbers need to show some of the great divide."

"That is a rather false assumption," Rude stated, boldly stepping closer to the flamboyant creature. "I know a nice Italian man who wears overalls to prevent that sort of unpleasant view."

"What the hell yo?" Reno continued to fiddle with the weapon, flipping various switches despite being advised against it. "Overalls are for sissies and the most unappealing form of clothing known to man."

Cissnei made a mental note to get herself a pair when the opportunity arose. Anything that could repel Reno for more than five minutes had to be worth its weight in gold. Especially at this point. She continued trying to read and shield herself from the unpleasant view.

"This nice Italian man also spends most of his time hanging out with a bunch of mushrooms and stomping on people's heads," Vincent scowled. "And he's a lovable icon to children and adults everywhere."

Tseng reloaded the pistol with a slightly interested look. "Perhaps he should be the one handling this mission then. How do we contact him?"

Rude flipped open his phone and retrieved the number, handing it to Tseng for closer inspection.

"Cissnei, can I borrow your phone again?"

"But you're holding Rude's phone right now! Can't you just use that one to call?"

Tseng shook his head. "Unfortunately, no I cannot."

She scowled, retrieving her phone from her pocket. "Why not? He's got the same provider I do, the same design, and probably even the same numbers programmed in with the exception of that one. With all due respect Sir, the only difference is that my phone gets better battery life and has been in less accidents."

"You also have an untraceable line, which is what I need right now. Now hand it over so I can dial this number and save our dignity once again by outsourcing this special mission to this mushroom man."

"Fine. But sooner or later you have to get your own." She grudgingly handed him the phone against her better judgment, returning to the manual.

Vincent yawned, checking his watch against the clock on the wall. It was too late in the day for this sort of thing. "I'm going to get something to drink. I trust nothing will happen while I'm away."

"Nah, go ahead," Reno answered, fiddling with a computer chip board. "We're fine without you."

Rude merely sighed, his look pleading for him being allowed to go as well. Tseng nodded, trying to get someone on the other end of the line to pick up.

"Okay, Reno," Cissnei began. "I think I understand what you're supposed to do now. Reno?"

He was standing by the desk, holding the _Flushenator _at a cockeyed angle and staring in what could only be described as wonder. A strange buzzing sound emitted from the weapon, prompting her curiosity. "Check it out. I got it started."

Cissnei raised an eyebrow, double checking the pages in front of her. Something sounded odd. "Reno, are you sure you followed my instructions?"

"Sure thing. Ain't it great. Now let's go slay some toil-"

An explosion and a flash of light rattled the room, fading just as quickly as it had appeared. Tseng barreled into the room in surprise, staring at the gaping hole in the wall and the shattered remnants of what might have been a urinal at one point clinging pathetically to the wall.

"Holy chit that was awesome!"

Cissnei trembled the manual's pages making an ominous rattling sound at the motion. She could not be witnessing this. It was impossible. Simply impossible. "What did you do to it, Reno?"

"Nothing 'Nei," he defended. "But this thing is mega cool though."

Tseng stormed across the room towards the red head, seething over the state of the men's restroom. "Blowing up a urinal with a high powered plunger is not 'mega' cool! Put that thing down before someone gets hurt."

Being the typical Turk that he was, Reno chose ignorance over common sense, partially dancing out of reach. "But you said we have to save the world from toilets! I'm just following orders yo."

"I never meant like this," he shouted, pointing to the bathroom. "We're returning this to Hojo right now, before we lose any more parts of the building."

The _Flushenator_ emitted a secondary buzz, making everyone halt and look towards it. Cissnei frantically tried to find this in the manual, watching as it levitated out of Reno's hands and aimed at every one of them, as if trying to decide who to vaporize first.

"Reno," Tseng's voice dropped lower in warning. "If we survive this little mishap, I advise you to put as much distance between myself and your comrades as humanly possible, as, there is a higher than normal chance I'm going to shoot you first and they are going to slice you apart with whatever weapons they deem fit after."

The buzzing increased, what appeared to be a satellite poking out of the plunger's front rising into the air and emitting a beeping, sonar-like sound, first slowly, and then rapidly as it passed each alert person in the room. Hojo was right. This was not just any plunger. The flash of light filled the room and the heat wave of an explosion shattered what remained of the windows, the shockwave rattling the building and making pipes burst.

Tseng tackled Cissnei to the ground as the flames tore across the ceiling, the sound of porcelain shattering into millions of pieces and the steady stream of water from exploding pipes cascading from the upper floors trickling down like a deluge of rain. Somewhere in the storm of exploding plumbing he could hear Reeve shouting something incomprehensible and the vague sounds from the upper floors of someone claiming that the toilets were back for round two.

After several long minutes, the sound of silence filled the room, permeated only by the steady drip of water. Tseng sat up, picking pieces of porcelain off of his suit and watching the younger Turk mimic the motion in a sort of terrified mechanical movement, as if she wasn't exactly sure just what they had survived.

The office was virtually gone. The file cabinets lay singed in the far corner, Reeve and the AVALANCHE member still clinging to one another in horror. Papers smoldered from various locations, a steady, chill wind rattling through the broken windows. It looked as though someone had set of a bomb.

The heavy sound of footsteps thundering through the hallway reached his ears, Vincent half leaping through the door with his gun drawn and ready for action. Rude arrived a short time later, carrying a first aid kit to deal with the injured, a fact Tseng was most grateful for.

"What'd we miss?"

Tseng frantically searched the area close by for a PHS to inform the higher ups what had occurred, finding both virtually destroyed by the blast just out of reach. He swore venomously and tried to stand, staggering against the splintered desk. "The plunger committed treason on us. Cissnei, are you alright?"

She grumbled what appeared to be a semi-agreement that she was, although he doubted it by the way she kept looking around, as though searching for something with that worried look about her.

"Reeve, what about you?"

Both he and the AVALANCHE member nodded in silent agreement, stilling clinging to one another. He sighed in relief. So far so good.

"Sir," Cissnei sat up and leaned against the wall with a wince. "Where's Reno?"

**--**

**On the next One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**The Turks have a 'tiny' little problem that must be dealt with.**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	30. Mission 30 Operation Sift and Find

**Bah, this mission did not turn out even a fraction of a tenth close to what I wanted it to be humor-wise. (Apologizes for it not being the greatest mission ahead of time). I'll make it up to ya'll somehow. Until then, try to enjoy this one.**

**Mission Thirty - Operation Sift and Find**

This was the last time they ever watched _War of the Worlds_ so long as he lived. Come Monday, he intended on taking that particular DVD out of their collection, retreating to the shooting range, convincing some unsuspecting idiot -preferably an infantrymen - to slingshot it into the air, and he was going to empty four cartridges of ammunition into its shiny circular arse. Any DVD that caused this much damage deserved to be suffer the wrath of Tseng.

Right now, his eyebrow twitched at the sight of the two male Turks currently in range of being shot at, Monday could not come soon enough.

"Oh for the love of Holy," he snarled, clicking the safety off of the pistol and aiming towards the bald Turk, who continued to shake his blazer to remove the mere speck of ash clinging to it. Vincent glided into his path, attempting to remove what little ash clung to his lower back with a lint roller commandeered from the remnants of the desk. "There is no way Reno could have been vaporized into a faint residue of ashy powder!"

This, if it was intended to contain the chaos currently rippling throughout the room, only served to increase it three fold. Tseng watched as Reeve stood up and proceeded to shake the dust from his own blazer, while the AVALANCHE operative merely looked on in vague amusement, seemingly immune to any and all acts of stupidity contracted by the Turks and their allies. Tseng only wished he was as fortunate, his hazel eyes watching the two Turks and an engineer struggle to remove any and all traces of 'Reno dust' from their beings.

"Cissnei-"

The light shuffle of feet being dragged across damp carpet reached his ears, the female Turk calmly standing amidst the chaos by the overturned desk, the wind catching her tangled auburn hair and ash-dusted blazer as she scanned the scorched walls and layers of damp soot, taking it all in and no doubt trying to comprehend just what foul demon was possessing the males enough to make them shed their clothing with shouts of horror and disgust.

"Yes sir?"

He glanced down at his youngest Turk with a sense of well gravitated pity, uncertain if he should even ask the question lingering upon the tip of his tongue. Deciding to give fate a run for his money, he withdrew a small notepad from his front pocket and handed it to her along with his best fountain pen in an offering of peace. "I wish you the best of luck writing this up in the report. Feel free to use elaborate wording, as this will be the defining moment of your career."

"But Sir-" she protested, uncertain of just what protocol being attacked by a plumbing tool should be filed under.

Tseng gently turned her towards the door and gave her shoulder a light shove. "You are the only one I trust with an imagination creative enough to make this work out somehow. Now go, before the rest of your sanity is sapped by the presence of idiots."

She vanished into her office down the hall and locked the door behind her as Tseng turned back to the males.

"Reeve. Go get the Shop-Vac. We're going to need the industrial strength one."

**Cissnei's office.**

She sat hunched over the blank piece of paper with a defeated sigh, tapping the fountain pen against the varnished surface of the desk in defeat. This was not going to be a pretty report, no matter what style of paper she used. How does one go about reporting the complete obliteration of an office and a bathroom, as well as the untimely vaporization of a fellow Turk by a plunger?

The pen scratched the surface of the paper with a mournful click, the date appearing at the top of the page. So far, so good. She continued writing, daring herself to even think about the remainder of the report.

_Today, at exactly 5:12 p.m. east Shinra Time, the Department of Administrative Research faced an enemy more powerful than an egotistical madman trying to seize the world…_

**Reeve's office.**

They had done some pretty underhand things in their careers, but this particular clean up mission took the cake. Vincent swore loudly and ran the vacuum over the soggy carpet once again, watching the ash sink deeper into the tiny follicles of the carpet's surface. There was just something wrong with mopping up the remnants of Reno with a shop-vac.

Rude glanced up with a shake of his head, sweeping portions of an ashy pile into a dust pan and promptly depositing it into the trashcan Reeve and the AVALANCHE member had managed to salvage from what precious little remained of the office furniture.

"Lousy little imp," the stoic Turk swore, wielding the lint roller like a minor weapon against his shirtsleeve in between vacuumings. "It's going to take several trips to the drycleaners to remove his disgusting presence from this jacket. He can't even die right."

"Tell me about it. Most people just die and we roll them up, send them to Junon, and be done with it."

Tseng paled and scratched his forehead in frustration. He had told them to stop doing that years ago. They were supposed to bury the bodies, not send them to the city where Hojo an Hollander usually got their supplies did their holiday shopping. Holy knows just what two mad scientists with too much time on their hands could do when on a body part shopping spree. He shuddered at the thought. If he got another fermenting monkey paw hand again this year, someone was going to die.

"Less talking, more sucking. We have to clean Reno up before anyone finds out about this."

Reeve sighed and folded a few pieces of salvageable pieces of paper back up, filing them away for later reference. Tseng obviously did not always think before he spoke, judging by the two looks he was currently receiving. The AVALANCHE member shrugged at the display and continued picking up pieces of fractured blue and gold floral tile to line the walls of his crawlspace with. He might as well take this opportunity to make his home a little nicer anyway.

Rude leaned heavily upon the broom with a look towards his superior. "Can't we just sweep him out the window like everyone else would?"

"No. We need his ashes for a proper burial."

"Oh?" Vincent scowled. "And just what are we going to bury his cremated body in? A sissified ceramic vase?"

"I was hoping to stay under budget. Do you still have that Pringles can, Reeve?"

"How can I?" the engineer scowled. "I was murdered by it. Remember?"

"Well, now is the time it can redeem itself for committing such a crime. Vincent?"

"What you overly heartless psychopathic Wutainese slave driver?" he kicked the ashes in frustration as they scattered away from the vacuum. "Be a man already and get in the tube Reno."

"Stop talking to Reno and find me that can."

"He started it!"

"You're talking to a pile of ashes."

"Fine," he threw the vacuum down and stormed off. "I'll go get the stupid can. Rude, you take over."

**Cissnei's Office**

_It is with great sadness that we honor the loss of our brave, if not a little gender confused comrade, Reno, who was vaporized by a laser beam shot from the core of the levitating plunger of death as it turned upon us and unleashed a minor apocalypse upon all who dared to challenge the toilets._

Cissnei reread what she had written, scowling at the words. No one was going to believe one word of this, no matter how true it was. She scratched a line under toilets and drew an arrow to the next paragraph consisting of thirteen little words.

_The toilets won, we have lost. Mankind as we know it is screwed._

Tseng was going to kill her for this. She signed her name at the bottom and folded it up, tucking it into a crisp manila envelop and setting it in her **outbox** so she could collect it later and send it off. Why she even had an **outbox**, she honestly didn't understand that herself.

With a sigh, she stretched her arms towards the ceiling and leaned back in her chair. Was it quitting time yet? The clock upon the wall leered back in challenge, reminding her that she still had a good hour yet until she could go home and try to forget about the day's events - especially Reno's untimely vaporization.

"I hope you're happy wherever you are, Reno," she scowled, watching a fly buzz across the room.

"Of course I am!"

The chair clattered to the ground, spilling the unfortunate female Turk onto the ground at the base of the bookshelf. She scrambled to her knees, reaching for her shuriken in defense.

"Who's there?" she dared to inquire, trying to locate the source of the sound. She had to stop drinking that herbal tea. It was making her hear things now.

"Whoa, you have nice legs."

Every muscle in her body froze, nerves tingling with the frost of the blizzaga materia she now held in her hands. Some…thing was crawling up her leg. She paled, reciting the familiar words in her mind and trying not to lose focus. It was probably just some sort of flea. Yes, she thought, a very large flea, and it was climbing up around her knee.

She stood up with a shout of surprise, casting the familiar spell and staggering against the desk as the ice coated her pant leg. Her foot struck the ground repeatedly, trying to shake whatever was climbing her leg away, tiny shouts of protest echoing over each thump of boot against tile.

A soft click filled the air, the tiny creature bouncing across the floor atop a tiny piece of ice before colliding against the leg of the chair and spinning to a halt.

For a moment, the female Turk could only stare at the tiny spider-like being perched atop a piece of ice, a gum wrapper wrapped around his waist, a rubber band trying to keep his wild red hair askew like a tiny savage, and grinning like a madman.

"Hey babe."

Cissnei did the only thing a damsel in distress could do in such a situation, she grabbed a flyswatter.

**Reeve's office.**

Tseng brushed his hands together, removing the last of the ash from his hands as he drew the trashbag strings shut and hefted the bag closer to the doorway just in time to hear the banshee-like shriek of a terrified female Turk in peril.

Vincent glanced up from the overly full Pringles can with a scowl as Reeve raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Was that Cissnei making all that noise down the hall?

Rude adjusted his shades and grabbed a broken chair leg, readying it like a baseball bat as Tseng raised his pistol and crept into the hallway. _The Flushenator_, he broke in to a run. It had to be the _Flushenator_. It was hunting them down one by one to vaporize them as it had Reno. Death by plunger. Things looked grim for the Turks.

"Boss?" Vincent hesitated, Death Penalty drawn and ready for action just outside the closed office door. "Do you think she's okay?"

Tseng put his back against the wall, surveying the empty corridor as the shrieks continued from beyond the door.

"Cissnei only screams in terror at two things, spiders and PBS pledge week. As far as I know, pledge week is over. So let's hope for a spider."

"That must be a big spider," Rude checked to ensure he had an extra phoenix down as something crashed against a wall upon the other side. Tseng gestured to the door and stepped away.

And, with all the manly effort they could, they broke down the door…

**Cissnei's office.**

They found her standing atop her desk amidst a pile of scattered papers, flyswatter raised above her head and ice clinging to her left leg. Her haunting amber eyes darted from side to side, the flyswatter falling in perfect rhythm against the wood, eliciting what appeared to be a squeak of terror from the unfortunate 'spider'.

The lead Turk raised an eyebrow in surprise at seeing her like this, lowering his pistol. It had to be dead by now and for once, he pitied the spider. He gestured for the remaining two Turks and the engineer to remain behind him as he stepped closer to the desk with a cautious stride.

"Cissnei?"

She continued to snarl at the little beast cornered in her teacup, showing no sympathy whatsoever. "Climb up my leg will ya? I'll show you you little pervert!"

The flyswatter rattled the teacup, making the little creature splash to the opposite side in terror. "It's not like anything actually goes up there anyway."

Tseng and the others halted, eyes wide as though they had just witnessed Palmer in a Speedo. That voice sounded awfully familiar.

Cissnei jumped down from the desk and pointed to the teacup in rage. "Reno's in my teacup."

Rude leaned down and whispered something in his boss's ear about seeking help for the younger Turk.

Tseng nodded. "He was vaporized Cissnei. He can't be in your teacup."

She pointed to the small porcelain cup with the blue flowers and moombas painted upon the sides. "Try me. He's right there!"

Shaking his head and promising to destroy whatever movies that might go hand in hand with _War of the Worlds_, he stepped over to the desk and looked into the teacup.

"Hey boss," the tiny figment of Reno waved, lounging upon the teabag. "My you've got large boogers in your nose."

Gritting his teeth, the elder Turk took three steps away, rubbed his eyes, and quickly darted back. Same sight.

He looked up at Cissnei in surprise. "What in the hell am I looking at?"

"Reno in a teacup, Sir."

The stoic Turk standing in the doorway ran a hand through his raven hair and tucked the Death Penalty away, storming over to the desk.

"Oh come on now," Vincent scoffed. "That's impossi-"

Reno smiled and stood up, modesty out the window as Vincent fainted. Rude raised an eyebrow and chose to remain silent as Tseng knelt closer to the teacup for a closer look.

"How in the hell-"

"Man you need a breath mint!" Reno protested, scurrying to the opposite side of the teacup.

"The only thing I can think of is somehow he was Minied during the explosion," she replied, retrieving a handkerchief from her back pocket and wrapping it around Reno's tiny form much like an oversized toga. "How do we turn him back? Esuna is useless."

"Hey babe, I could stay like this forever if ya know what I mean," he winked, watching her reach for the flyswatter in warning.

"Touch me again and I make sure I don't miss next time."

Tseng rubbed his forehead with a disgruntled sigh. This was just too much. First the plunger, and now Reno was half the size of a Barbie doll wearing a handkerchief as a toga, sitting on the rim of a teacup. He seriously needed a vacation far far away from Midgar and Wutai.

Watching Rude and Reeve try to revive Vincent, he pointed to Reno with his eyes narrowed.

"Until we find a way to change him back, he stays with you."

Cissnei glared. "Why me?"

"Because if any one of us guys were seen with a doll-like rendition of Reno, it would look weird. And I highly recommend never drinking from that teacup again if I was you."

**--**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Cissnei's guide to caring for a Mini Reno Part One**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	31. Mission 31 Operation Mischief Maker

**Guess I got lazy on that last mission eh? Heh heh. Aw well, can't win 'em all. That said, I present to this nifty little drabbalistic (new word! Yea!) mission. (The muse has been a little off kilter humor-wise lately, as she's been working on other fics, but she'll be back to her nutty self here soon enough! Promise!) Enjoy folks. ;)**

**Mission Thirty One - Operation Mischief Maker**

The blackmail lottery only sold a set amount of tickets once in a blue moon, and for the first time in his lifetime, Reno Sinclair had managed to hit every number drawn on his card with dangerous accuracy. He rubbed his tiny hands together in demonic glee. It was an enigma unsolved by the greatest of explorers, more mysterious than the unique smell wafting from Director Lazard's gym locker on Wednesdays and Fridays, rarer than Hojo's moments of perfect sanity, the curiosity and bane of all men and some women in the entire history of the Shinra building. Just what the inside of Room TCJS13 looked like.

And he was about to make history for his fellowmen this very day by being the first to find out.

Cissnei swiped the keycard with a frustrated sigh, listening for the familiar click of the lock engaging and the barely visible little red light flicking to green. The door gave a protesting hiss as she nudged it open with the toe of her boot and stepped across the threshold.

Reno leaned forward from his perch upon his comrade's shoulder in excitement. The place smelled like his comrades had imagined, a faint mixture of lavender and spearmint. Not overly feminine, but not anything close to the stale whisky and fish scent of his own dorm, nor the wet dog scent of Rude's. They were still trying to figure that one out. And if the smell was nice…

Every Shinra male's dream hinged upon what he expected to find in this room. And if he was the closest in the guessing game, he was about to become a very wealthy Turk at everyone, including President Shinra's expense.

His comrade muttered something under her breath and set Rekka against the inside of door at its usual resting place, loosening her tie with one hand and flipping the small switch on the wall with the other. The dreary mako light flooded the room with its eerie allure to reveal -

Quite possibly the most interesting room in all of Midgar. Reno did a double take and rubbed his eyes. This couldn't be right. He'd seen SOLDIERs decorate with the flamboyance of a drunken Ifrit. Hell, some even hired Ifrit to do it for them, Sephiroth being the guilty party most of the time when he wanted firetruck red to adorn his ceiling and soot marks on the walls. But this. Now this was just beyond mind boggling.

What for ungodly force of nature had inspired her to paint the walls pastel yellow with tiny sunflowers shadowed into them? Worst yet, the fact that she had managed to create a near perfect match to the standard originally issued teal carpet that had been there since the building had been constructed was just - disturbing. Not even Lazard could have done better, and he was often paid for this kind of 'gift' with colors sort of thing.

He scrambled further out onto her shoulder, grasping a strand of auburn hair to prevent himself from toppling to the ground. In response, a set of lightly calloused fingers descended from above, plucking him from their owner's shoulder none too gently and depositing him atop a rather ancient nightstand by a small unmade bed. Reno raised an eyebrow at the disheveled mint green sheets and looked up at the female Turk who casually tossed her blazer over the back of a wooden chair with her tie as if he did not even exist. He really had hit the blackmail lottery.

"Whoa, getting a little personal there, 'Nei!" He sauntered over to a stuffed moomba with its back leaning against the wall and draped an arm over its shoulder.

She looked up from untying her shoes with her typical 'death' glare and pointed a finger at him in lethal warning. Though, he was sure he was going to have a difficult time taking a woman who kept a plush moomba by her bed and several others on a shelf across the room seriously from now on.

"Don't make me have to cast blind on you, because if I have to I will," she threatened, removing her shoes and setting them none too organized by Rekka and stalking towards the excused for a kitchen. He smirked.

"You can't blind a minied person."

"Watch me."

"Oh, I'm watching al-" A wall of frosted plastic materialized around him, his feet sliding out from beneath him as the piece of cardboard swept across the grainy wooden surface. He sprang to his feet and scurried around the enclosure, banging a first against the unforgiving walls of his plastic, slightly French dressing scented prison cell. "What in the hell 'Nei? This is a Tupperware container!"

"Stay there until I get back."

"You can't keep me in here!"

"Yes I can." The sound of one very irritated female Turk storming off to the mysterious room to the right filled the air.

"It's cruelty to Turks!"

The sound of a door slamming shut was his only reply.

Resigned to the fact that he, one of the most deadly assassins in the company, had been bested by a prison for salads, he did the only thing a minified Turk wearing a toga could do - he rushed the wall at full gallop and slammed head first into its unforgiving, yet surprisingly malleable plastic wall. The rattling sound echoed for a few seconds, the cardboard slipping beneath his feet ever so slightly forward.

His eerie green eyes scanned the impossible to see through plastic, sizing up the worthy challenger and charging again, jumping a little sooner and using his feet this time. The walls shook in response, inching further away from the cardboard. His confidence soared. This was it, in a few seconds he was about to be a free man once again. And no Tupperware container was going to prevent him from enjoying his prize.

The sheets rushed up to meet him amid the soft thud of the container landing against the frame of the bed and clattering to rest a few inches away. He raised his hands above his head with a whoop of victory and hopped down from the bed to survey what he had to work with.

Small, slightly used kitchen with what appeared to be a soft oak cupboard to the far side, a nightstand by the foot of the bed, what appeared to be a table…with two chairs.

His brow furrowed. Two chairs? Whatever could someone like Cissnei need two chairs for? Unless…he nearly fainted at the prospect. This was far better than any Christmas, Birthday, or Survival Party gift he'd ever received. He glanced up at the stuffed moomba with a wink.

"Catch up with ya later big guy. I've got a mission to complete."

Scurrying under the bed, he managed to locate the tools of his trade - a slightly used paperclip and half of a spool of thread - courtesy of a loose piece dangling from the fringe of her blanket. Slinging both over his shoulder, he marched towards the looming, less than fashionable armoire to fulfill his purpose in life.

**Meanwhile, In the bathroom...**

Cissnei stared at the mirror, trying to figure out if the stand of hair she clutched in her hand really was the color it was. Her first gray hair before the age of twenty. This had to be some sort of record.

Exploding toilets and renegade SOLDIERs. Could there be a better way to earn a living out there? Probably not, she sighed. Anything else was being like Vincent, selling various body parts to advertisers in hopes of luring funding to the Science Department for more Q-tips and cotton balls. Not that anyone actually knew nor dared to want to know what they did with 5 million tons of them per year. It was just an oddity no one could explain without trying to figure out the origins of Lazard's soap fetish, which would have led to Genesis's obsession with LOVELESS, which one would then have to figure out who exactly gave him an indestructible copy with pop up pictures, before eventually being forced to dig deep enough at the route of all evil - Palmer's first realization that lard was his significant other.

There was not enough therapy in the world to make a Turk take a mission like that.

She stepped over to the door and doubled checked to ensure that the lock was fastened securely. Even with him in a Tupperware container, a distant part of her mind warned against the shower she desperately needed. After all, maybe it wasn't a gray hair after all, but the remnants of the Flushenator's assault against all human life as they know it that was making her paranoid. Either way, she finally did manage to talk herself into stepping into the shower.

"You really should check for bad guys behind the curtain before you get naked."

The hot water turned frigid, sending a shockwave of ice across the young Turk's back as her feet slipped against the soapy floor in the frantic lunge from the shower dial now turned completely to cold to salvage what little dignity she had left. With a cry caught somewhere between murderous rage and 'I'm going to die' terror, she reached for the shower rod, her fingers catching the plastic curtain and drawing it down with her as she fell.

Reno stabbed the edge of the paperclip into the bar of standard issue lavender soap with a whistle of innocence, watching the spectacle as though it were the most fascinating thing on the planet. _The Midgar Scandal_ would pay more than 1,000 gil for this if he had a camera. He could see the headlines now - 'Enigmatic Midgar Zolom/moomba Hybrid discovered in Shinra shower, see page 23 for exclusive photos.'

"Shower much 'Nei?"

The baby blue curtain shuffled at the deluge of frigid water raining down upon it, the auburn haired female brushing her drenched hair out of her eyes and with almost inhuman accuracy, grabbed a washcloth and whipped it at the bar of soap, catching the red haired menace off guard and sending him crashing into the tiles by the towel rack. "Get the hell out of here right now you little pervert!"

He scrambled out from beneath the washcloth with an innocent smile and dusted his drenched toga off.

"I'm disappointed 'Nei," he bounded out of the way of her foot as she struck at him, trying to grind his tiny little bones into the ceramic floral tile below. "I was expecting leather whips and chains and instead I find a pair of frilly powder pink socks. Where's the lacy lingerie and silky brassieres? The leopard prints?"

Her eyes narrowed in rage greater than Bahamut on his worst days.

"You went through my underwear drawer!" Alarm filled her voice as she wrapped the shower curtain around herself even tighter and threw the bar of soap at him, knocking him against the door jam. "How dare you, you little creep!"

He attempted to scramble back into the main room at the sound of a furious Turk scrambling after him with the intention of murdering him the sole thought on her mind.

"Why would you have a silky nightgown anyway?" he taunted, managing to sprint halfway across the floor before the door swung open, making several of the glass moombas adorning the top of the armoire chatter in warning of the coming Apocalypse. "Really 'Nei, pink socks? What kind of Turk wears pink socks?"

A shoe struck the wall and landed with a thud atop the bed, barely missing Reno's head as he dove beneath the pillow and attempted to blend in with the color as she scanned the area for anything else she could throw.

"What's the matter 'Nei? Too fast for ya?"

"Shut the hell up you little rat and get out from beneath those covers right now!"

"No way babe, it's way too comfortable under here. Besides, the view's fantastic!"

Thud. The heavy book pressed him into the mattress as she continued to swear and shout at him, storming around the dorm to her uniform blazer and reaching into the pocket to retrieve the scorched PHS she had managed to salvage from the Flushenator's assault. Flipping it open she searched for the number she should know by heart. "That's it, I'm calling Tseng!"

"Whatcha gonna tell him?" He read the front of the book and began to chuckle at the thought of her reading this stuff on her free time. "That Senor El Dorado's romantic fling isn't good enough for ya?"

"Get the hell out of my bed sheets!" She swore at the busy signal trying to connect to Tseng's office. After the seventeenth ring with no answer, she flipped the phone shut and glared at the menace making what should have been a peaceful evening nothing more than an unfolding nightmare.

"I'd rather not," he tunneled further underneath of them, his words muffled. "It's like a cave in here, nice and warm and cozy."

She kicked the floor in frustration, pulling the sheets off of her bed in search of the impish Turk while attempting to keep the shower curtain from falling down to make matters worse. Yes, she swore, that was a gray hair. The first of many no doubt. And she had Reno to thank for it.

There was a rapping sound upon the door, each thunderous explosion of an impatient fist rattling it in its hinges. She swore under her breath and rushed to the bathroom, grabbing her uniform along the way and slamming the door behind her.

"Ya didn't tell me we were having a guest 'Nei!" Reno hollered from the sheets as the Turk emerged from the room, attempting to button her blazer, straighten her tie, and shake the ash from her trousers as she grumbled something inaudible under her breath and grasped the doorknob with a scowl.

"You had better have a good reason to be interrupting me at this-" The door swung open and Cissnei took a step in reverse, a look of horror across her face.

Standing in the doorway was none other than Rufus Shinra himself, a sinister smirk upon his face at the disheveled Turk standing in the doorway and a notebook in one hand and a still dripping ink pen in the other. "Good evening, Cissnei."

Reno had never seen one person look so pale.

**--**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**The Turks' tiny little problem gets even bigger. Why exactly are Tseng, Rude, and Vincent wearing grass skirts and tied to bamboo poles in some remote jungle?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : )**


	32. Mission 32 Operation Bead A Drama

**Whoot! Over 8,000 hits so far on this fic. Thanks everyone who's been reading (even when the missions don't quite turn out as I intended.) :P Anyway, enjoy this mission folks! **

**Mission Thirty Two - Operation Bead-A-Drama**

He was going to murder Reeve for this.

Tseng clutched the fountain pen until ink dripped from the sharp point onto the upper part of his midnight blue, coffee drenched pantleg, every ounce of control preventing him from stabbing the body standing behind him, long slender arms draped over his shoulders and manicured nails grasping his tie. Oh yes, Reeve Tuesti was going to die another horrible death for this.

"Oh, Tsengy I was so worried that the aliens got you when those toilets returned for round two!" The pinstriped arms continued to encircle his neck as he attempted to squirm away from the curly blond hair draping over his left shoulder with the scent of garlic closing in fast. The fountain pen trembled in his grasp, his foot tapping the barely audible code for help to the bald Turk and the stoic one standing alongside the two, very disgruntled SOLDIER First Classes.

Rude adjusted his sunglasses with the code meaning it was too dangerous to interfere, while Vincent merely shrugged and pretended to be amused by the sparkly blade of MasaMune clutched in the Silver Haired General's hand. Prying semi-paranoid, loose gendered Directors of SOLDIER off of their leader was not in the handbook and the only person with a security clearance high enough to attempt such a dangerous mission was currently tending to a much smaller crisis at the moment. Tseng was on his own this time.

"Are you sure you got out of the closet okay? You seem a little upset about the whole situation. And with all of these attacks by the aliens! You must be stressed."

He attempted to pry the dainty hand off of his chest with a scowl that told his two Turks that he wanted to see them after this was over. "I assure you that I am fine, Director Lazard. Mr. Tuesti and my underlings were of great assistance in the matter. Now, if you would excuse me, I would rather-"

"That's fabulous! I hear that he makes fantastic mini quiches on his days off-"

"Director!" Tseng stood up, knocking the man against a bookcase and warranting a snicker from the three SOLDIERs. "Please. I have urgent business to attend to with my subordinates at the moment. If you would be so kind as to-"

"Of course. What problem might you have? We might be able to help."

Tseng felt cold cruel hands of dread creeping along his face at the way Lazard said 'help'. Nothing good ever came out of asking SOLDIER for help.

"Sir," Sephiroth pointed to Angeal's wristwatch, green eyes narrowed in annoyance. "We have an urgent meeting to attend that is way overdue. I'm certain Tseng can handle this on his own."

"It can wait."

Angeal raised an eyebrow in protest. "But we're only on page 13 and right now the puppy we left to guard it is probably drooling all over it! Sephiroth might have to murder him if we wait any longer!"

"Yes," the silver haired man grit his teeth. "The puppy has a bad habit of spoiling things for us. We really need to check on him as soon as humanly possible."

"Pish posh. He's a SOLDIER."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Sephiroth scowled. "He's only level 17. What he guards requires a level 87 or above. What if a level 18 gel pen attacks while we are standing here? That would be the end of the planet as we know it."

"And then no one will know Agent C's real name!" Angeal crossed his arms across his chest, trying to ignore the puzzled Turks exchanging looks and slowly backing away at Tseng's withering glare from behind the desk. "I waited outside an actual bookstore for three days to get that copy."

"Yes," the lead Turk once again attempted to pry the fingers off of his tie, seizing the opportunity in his favor. "That would be a tragedy now wouldn't it? My inside sources reveal that every day at this exact minute, Mr. Fair has a candy bar and a Mountain Dew before he practices making Star Wars noises."

Two looks of horror met his stern glare, the silver haired general bolting through the door for the elevator, Angeal in tow. Lazard smiled.

"Your minions just ran off to protect a manga." Tseng pointed out. "Shouldn't you do something about that?"

"Nonsense. We all have to stick together. Company policy you know."

"If I tell you my problem, will you please stop touching me?" he begged, once again casting murderous glares at his two remaining, useable Turks. After he was done with Reeve, they were next. All he needed was a murder weapon and someone to help bury the bodies.

"Anything for a fellow friend."

The idea of being considered a 'fellow' anything to Lazard just sounded wrong to the unfortunate leader of the Turks.

"Well, er, Director. You see, I've got this 'little' problem."

"What kind of problem?" Interest sparkled in the man's blue eyes from behind those shimmering designer lenses.

"If you must know…When the Flushenator self destructed in Reeve's office, he was sort of minified into being a sixteenth of the size he usual is. We're trying to find a way to restore him to the proper size, and Esuna is not working."

Lazard's eyes were the size of proverbial saucers at the words, his gaze lingering to the pair of Turks standing by the doorway.

"He was minified? Dear Holy!" Immediately, Tseng felt the weight of his arms being lifted from his shoulder, the worried Director pacing around the room, rubbing his chin in thought. "Did you try seeing a specialist about it? Hojo, or Hollander? They're good with these sort of things."

"They caused this crisis."

"Where is he? Maybe if I took a look I could tell you how to restore him to normal size."

Tseng watched as Vincent Valentine slipped out of the room, his laugher echoing through the paper thin walls, soon to be joined by Rude's. What on Gaia had gotten into those two all of a sudden?

"This is not a laughing matter boys! Tseng needs your support!"

"I can't let you see him." Tseng spat. "This is a privileged problem that too many people know about already."

"_Right_. Privileged. This is between you, Mr. Tuesti, and those two. Gotcha." The Director winked and reached for a notepad in his pocket and a pen from his pocket protector, writing something down. "Tell her you heard about her from me and she'll give you a discount."

The lead Turk looked over the feminine handwriting and tucked the card away in his wallet for future reference.

"Oh, one more thing," Lazard halted in the doorway with a smile. "You'll need lots of them. Preferably sparkly ones with little flower shapes on them, just as the card instructs."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Tseng standing behind his desk to ponder what few options he had.

"Gentlemen," he began, casting a look around his office to see if anyone was listening in as his two Turks closed the door to prevent Lazard from entering again unannounced. "We're going downtown tonight. What we say, do, and buy in that district goes no further than this office. Understood?"

Why did he have a bad feeling about this?

**Half of an hour later, somewhere in District One…**

Vincent Valentine had put up with a lot of Tseng's missions over the years, each notably ending in utter humiliation and usually a trip to the hospital emergency department where they actually had succeeded in acquiring their own section strictly for their own humiliating injuries. But nothing, not even the trip to Wutai dressed as a woman, could have prepared him for something like this.

He kicked the door in frustration, staring at the keys dangling mockingly in the ignition of the Shinra-issued Sedan. Out of all of the vehicles they had chosen tonight, it just had to be the one with the bullet proof glass. Death Penalty clattered to the ground as he slammed his fist against the unforgiving barrier between himself and the keys, the neon orange and pink lights in the distance dancing over the glass to add insult to injury.

This was unmistakably Rude's fault, the stoic Turk reasoned, clawing at the door handle and once again receiving the ominous click and lack of movement. Had he just checked to make sure the keys were in his pocket before they locked the doors, none of this would be happening right now. He swore under his breath. From now on, anytime Tseng said the word 'mission', he was going to make damn sure he was scheduled to be dissected by Hojo that day.

Tseng sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration, standing halfway across the parking lot as Vincent tried in vain to retrieve the car keys from their prison, once again failing miserably and landing on his back on the cold, dark macadam of parking space sixty seven. Only his Turks could make such a simplistic mistake as to lock the only set of keys in the car. The mission hadn't even begun yet and they were already in trouble.

Rude's heavy footsteps echoed ahead of the frustrated click of Vincent's polished shoes around the maze of discarded carts and randomly parked vehicles towards their fearless leader striding towards the neon-lit building in the distance. The echo of techno music remixed with some sort of classical hip-hop jazz wafted from the sign depicting what appeared to be a basket with spools of thread peering out of the top of it and a disturbing little old lady holding up a pair of knitting needles blessed with the neon light of the gods. Both Turks exchanged looks of horror.

"Sir," Rude took a step in reverse, appearing to think about running the entire distance back to headquarters and hiding for what precious little was going to remain of his life after this fiasco. "Isn't this a little extreme by mission standards? Doesn't Cissnei usually handle this sort of thing?"

Tseng scowled and pointed to the sliding doors. "I felt it was more appropriate to punish you two for allowing this afternoon's mishap to even occur. Now get in there and get in touch with your feminine side before I borrow one of your phones to call Lazard for more of his 'help'."

"But it's a craft store!" Vincent whined, exchanging glares with the eerie old lady on the sign.

"I don't care what it is. Each of you get a cart, use your lackluster skills as Turks to locate sparkly glitter, butterfly crested, super neontastic, ornamental, glass beads with hyacinth flowers painted on each one, so we can go the hell home already and get Reno turned back into a regular-sized pain in the ass like he's always been. If you can do this faster than Cissnei usually can, I'll take you all out for ice cream and whisky once I call for help in getting the keys out of our car."

Both Turks blinked at the enthusiasm behind their frazzled leader's tone. This sounded serious and relatively easier than they were making it out to be. With a shrug, Vincent moved into the casual Turk strut, began walking forward - and slammed right into the door as it slid closed to block his path.

"The door that says 'Enter' Vincent. The one that says 'Enter'."

He swore as Rude strutted past, adjusting his sunglasses to stare at the ten million aisles unmarked and beaming with color. All they had to do was find a packet of sparkly glitter, butterfly crested, super neontastic, ornamental, glass beads with hyacinth flowers painted on each one. How hard could this be?

**Wax Candles, Aisle 12...**

The scent of bayberry was overpowering, stirring Chaos into an uproar and warning the stoic Turk to turn back now. Vincent hesitated, checking the complementary map the customer service representative had given him in order to find what he remotely sought. And the quickest way there, was through this particular aisle. He swore under his breath, shying away at the pair of women staring at him from the all natural soy candle section.

It was a well known fact that the chaotic demon preferred the aromatic scent of apple cinnamon, granting a well deserved ass kicking to any and all scents that dared to even attempt to challenge its spot atop the scent pyramid. He could still remember the unfortunate time he had been given just a plain apple pie candle for his birthday - as, simply put, candles were his favorite thing in the world aside from coffins and candy necklaces in the shapes of skulls.

The poor female Turk had not even looked at a candle since, and carried a phoenix down on her at all times from that moment onward.

Yes, Vincent nodded at the words in his head that only he could hear. This was a bad idea to continue forward. Bayberry didn't hold a proverbial candle to apple cinnamon. Backing away slowly, he turned the cart around and began strutting back towards the intersection of crayons and construction paper.

And then Chaos caught a whiff of Clean Linen…

**Faux Hair, Aisle 32...**

It was like Christmas in August for the Turk staring in awe at the illuminated rows of colorful faux hair taking up most of the wall. Blonds, brunettes, russet auburn, gray, silver, raven, orange. Any and all colors under the rainbow stared back at him as he maneuvered the rickety cart closer for a better view.

Hairs of silk, cotton, wool, yak, sheep, goat, organic. Locks of gold in lengths of ankle, kneecap, waist, chest, shoulder, and buzz cut. So many choices. He had to have died and entered right into the Promised Land. There simply was no other explanation.

Looking around to see that no one was watching, he gingerly picked up one from the 'Sexy Beast' collection and draped it across his bald head. Who cared if it looked as though someone had run over a zebra, tiger, and giraffe with a safari jeep, skinned it, and turned it into this. It was hair. And he liked the feel of it across his bald head.

**Beads, Aisle 22…**

Sparkle beads with red hearts on them. Sunflower beads. Glass beads arranged in rainbow formation. Packets of nature beads. Stone beads. Water and ice beads. Scorching inferno beads. Midnight black silver peony beads with glitterier sparkle effect.

This was not happening, Tseng assured himself, staring at the vacant spot amidst the ten thousand varieties surrounding where the sparkly glitter, butterfly crested, super neontastic, ornamental, glass beads with hyacinth flowers painted on each one should have been. It simply was not possible.

"Excuse me," he raised a hand to hail the pimple-faced teenager working for below minimum gil as a mop boy, further down the aisle. "Do you have any more of this kind?"

In response, the pimple-faced mop boy merely pointed to the vacant spot with the handle of the mop.

Tseng sighed, maintaining his composure and clutching the flower patterned shopping basket tighter in attempt to resist firing his pistol. He didn't have time for this tonight. "Yes. Do you have any more of them."

Again, the mop handle pointed, this time accompanied by the lackluster enthusiasm only mastered by a teenage pimple-faced mop boy. "Those."

"I know what kind they are. Do you have any more of them?"

This time, he received a lazy shrug, the pimple-faced mop boy continuing to mop the floor, leaving the lead Turk staring at the vacant spot in defeat. He just could not win tonight. Not at all.

**Wax Candle Aisle…**

Vincent was arguing with himself, and losing. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that this was indeed wrong, he just could not resist unscrewing the caps of each one of them, immersing himself into the fresh scent of drying laundry wafting upon a sunny field, tinged by the fresh mountain air with that 'just from the dryer' sort of scent.

Apple Cinnamon had died a terrible death, long live the simplicity of Clean Linen.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

He looked up from the pale candle in confusion to see the store associate smiling an eerie sort of smile in his direction, her apron embroidered with the emblem of the scary little old lady with the knitting needles plastered across her chest amidst a calligraphic word identifying the building as "Super Craft World."

Had Chaos not been currently on a candle high, the Turk might have seen the danger well before stumbling into it. "Yes?"

She pointed to the candles behind him. "I see you are enjoying our latest and greatest scent in the Scentastic Sensations Collection. Might I interest you in our Candle of the Week Club? It's free to join and you can cancel at any time you want."

A Candle of the Week Club? He had finally stumbled into something wonderful! With a smirk, he greatly accepted the pen and began filling out his personal information, checking his interests and expectations for what candles he preferred to receive. Finally, something had gone right for him.

"And sign here," the lady pointed to a space below the terms and agreements that no one ever read because they were in size 3 font. "Initial here."

Vincent nodded and put his initials in the little box, a tiny prick catching the side of his finger as it brushed against the jagged piece of metal clip of the clipboard. He grit his teeth so not to swear in the associate's presence, watching the tiny red dot of blood marring the white paper before handing the clipboard back to the associate.

"Thank you very much Sir. You will receive this week's candle in a few months."

**Bead Aisle…**

Tseng weighed his options, trying to make an educated guess on whether or not he could find a substitute for the sparkly glitter, butterfly crested, super neontastic, ornamental, glass beads with hyacinth flowers painted on each one. So far, none of the butterfly nor super neontastic variety could be found.

A chill ran along his spine, the echo of feminine heels clicking over linoleum wafting from around the corner. It was a feeling he had only encountered once before, way back in his teenage years when he had first donned the handsome uniform of a Turk and received his first mission from Commander Veld. And it had sentenced him to the safety of light recon and desk work ever since.

The pimple faced mop boy continued to mop, oblivious to the danger approaching at an increased pace, the rustle of their bodies making the beads rattle in warning. The lead Turk swore under his breath, dropping the packet of beads back onto the shelf and clutching the empty basket to his chest as he bolted like a frightened deer for the intersection of the wax candle aisle where Vincent lurked.

**Wax Candle Aisle…**

The stoic Turk had never seen Tseng in this state. Holding a basket out like a shield and running almost backwards as the first of the female, and some male creatures poked their heads around the corner of the bead aisle, emitting squeals of glee upon confirmation of their target.

"Vincent," Tseng warned, maneuvering the shopping cart between himself and the distant pack of people. "Where's Rude?"

"I saw him in the faux hair aisle a while ago. Why?"

"We need to get to him, now."

"But, the candles…"

"No time for candles." One of the creatures stepped closer, catching his scent upon the air, emitting more squeals of glee. Vincent paled in realization.

"Are those-"

"Yes. Now let's get the hell out of here!"

A squeal like a banshee filled the air, and the hunt was on.

**Faux Hair Aisle…**

Rude adjusted his tie and tipped his sunglasses down enough for him to wiggle his eyebrows at the sexy beast in the mirror. Brunette was definitely his shade of color. And the slicked back strands dancing upon the invisible breeze as he moved into the Turk strut did him justice.

He was going to find a way to have this look. Somewhere. Somehow. This was the hair he wanted to have.

The frantic forms of his boss and comrade appeared in the mirror, shoes slipping against the linoleum. His brow furrowed in frustration.

Tseng tripped over an exposed set of dowel rods, crashing onto the floor in epic fashion, Vincent leaping over him to slide to a halt by the colorful foam boards and _Make Your Own Volcano_ display.

"Get that stupid fake dead animal off of your head and start running," the lead Turk shouted, pointing to the rabid gathering of people swarming towards them from several aisles.

The bald Turk raised an eyebrow. What had they done now? He ran the possibilities over in his mind, watching the pickup truck he often used stutter and stall. It was a craft store for Holy's sake. There was absolutely nothing they could have caused problems with. The soft prod of Vincent jabbing an elbow into his rib brought him back to attention.

"We need to go. Now."

The way he said it made it sound as though -

Rude began running for his life. No hair was worth dying over.

"Thank you for visiting Super Craft World. We hope you leave inspired!" The associate smiled as the three Turks galloped past, Tseng throwing the basket behind him and feeling the group gaining on them. They were going to make it. They were going to survive this encounter.

After all, each one of them was well above level 52, far above recommended for the foe approaching.

"What are those things following us?"

Tseng retrieved the Libra he'd borrowed from Cissnei earlier that week.

"Level-" his eyes widened. "Run faster and pray this really is broken. Those are level 102 fan girls with status enhancers Hastaga, Barrier, and Reflect cast on them!"

"Level 102?" Rude scowled. "That's impossible. I think Cissnei really needs to buy a new Libra."

Tseng stared at the glowing orb in his hands with a raised eyebrow. "You really don't wear underwear?"

Vincent slammed into the hood of the black sedan in parking space sixty six, staring at his bald companion in mock amusement and horror. If that Libra could see that much information, what else could it have seen?

"Or she can just deal with the one you currently have in you hands," the bald man tried to regain what little dignity he had left as Tseng tucked the piece of materia away and moved to open the driver's door, finding the handle jammed. In horrific realization, he knelt down and looked through the window.

The keys stared mockingly back at them.

**-- **

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Will Tseng and the boys survive their encounter with the rabid fan girls? Will Reeve manage to get the lounge microwave to work? Will Reno ever be unminified? And why exactly is Cissnei carrying a broomstick?**

**Tune in folks to find out what the next fun-filled adventurers hold for our favorite Turks.**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill**


	33. Mission 33 Operation Street Lamp

**Whoa, I haven't updated in a while. Sorry about that folks, but the Muse has been swamped with the desire to finish her other fic which has gone on way too long already, leaving this one in neglect. Here's a tiny little update for those of you who are still reading. It's not the best, more of a rush job, but I hope it gets a laugh or two outta ya. ;) Anyway, until I get my other fic completed, expect sporatic updates on this one like I was updating it. I promise I'll make it up to ya'll afterwards with bigger, better missions with twice as many humorous moments, including a Super Secret Special _Special_ Mission known as :cue the drums and fire rings: T_he Tiki Torch Mission_... **

**Until then, enjoy this mission and see ya'll later! **

**Mission Thirty Three - Operation Street Lamp**

"Remind me why I hired you two again?" Tseng wrapped his trembling arms around the metal rod protruding from the side of the Section 86 parking lot light pole, trying to move as close to the light bulb as possible in attempt to grant the balding Turk beside him more room and block his own view of the ground below. It was a lesser known fact that the lead Turk, albeit fearless in situations he needed to be, was terrified of heights.

"Because I was an intelligent young man with a fist that could crush evil bad guys' faces to a pulp and the only one none of the fan girls chased up lamp poles at night," Rude explained, rather proud of the fact. Tseng scowled, pointing to the vampire-like Turk hanging upside down upon the opposite side of the pole, arms crossed and shooting indignant glares at his comrades in an almost casual manner.

"And him?"

"Hey," Vincent closed his eyes matter-of-factly. "They aren't my fan girls _he-who-shall-inherit-the-elusive-sexiness-of-his-culture-because-he-looks-incredible-radiant-in-high- definition-three-dimensional-animation-pseudo villain. Mine are marked with glow in the dark highlighters_."

Both Turks merely blinked at the infinite wisdom of their counterpart. Rude leaned closer, adjusting his sunglasses at the glare from the flickering light.

"What is this high-definition animation he speaks of, Sir?"

Tseng shook his head, inching away from Vincent's knees and trying not to look down at the swaying mesh of bodies sporting various stylish ties. "Whatever it is, it cannot be good for us. I'll have Cissnei look into it when we get home."

"If we get home," Vincent noted, pointing to some of the bolder fan girls attempting to scale the pole. "Do something ninja-ish so they go away."

"They are not _my _fan girls!" Tseng crossed his arms indignantly with a shudder. "You can't prove it."

A barrage of high heel shoes struck the pole like a group of throwing stars, forming a very effective ladder like structure and pinning Vincent's tie to the wood.

"Oh," Vincent struggled to undo his tie, crimson eyes watching the fan girls swarm up the ladder like a bunch of hungry ants. "They belong to you alright."

"Like you can tell the difference! You're a sex god amongst young adolescent females for Holy's sake!" Tseng growled in challenge. "All I get are the older, sophisticated type now-a-days."

"Apparently not, Sir," Rude dodged another shoe, kicking at one of the fan girls reaching for his leg. "These are not normal fan girls."

"There are no such things as 'normal' fan girls, Rude. You of all people should know that."

The bald man pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and looked over it. "According to the newly released numbers from the _National Fan Girls of the World Federation of Hotness Organization_, you rank third only to Sephiroth and Vincent."

"Sweet. I'm number two already?" the normally stoic Turk nudged a rabid fan girl's hand away, casting a fleeting Barrier around them all to buy time. "How far behind am I?"

Tseng blinked at the words. Since when did fan girls materialize into organizations all of a sudden? Wasn't Heidegger supposed to be controlling that? More importantly, why did Rude have a ranking sheet? One of the fan girls began banging on the barrier bubble to get their attention.

"Look, Reeve moved up from 36 to 6. Wonder why that was?"

Vincent grabbed the list in disbelief. "He's been trimming his side burns extra close lately and he got a new protractor. Hey, check out who's in the number 5 slot."

"I saw."

"How did _he_ manage that one anyway? Fair is going to be furious."

Rude pointed to the charted paper. "I'm more concerned about number four. Take a look."

Vincent shied away as though he had been doused by holy water, the paper falling from his grasp, landing with a soft ruffle against the Barrier, the edges dancing around with the breeze created by the moving Turk away from it.

Tseng felt the pole tremble at the motion, a swift stormy breeze picking up across the plate.

"We're trapped on the top of a light post in the center of a crafting store parking lot about to be rabidly assaulted by crazy women in stilettos and you're worried about where you rank on an insignificant list of hotness?" The lead Turk grit his teeth in anger, mentally reminding himself to fire these two if he survived the evening. "For the love of Holy. Can we focus on the crisis at hand? Please!"

Both Vincent and Rude appeared to be ignoring him, choosing instead to trade weird glares only understood between the two of them. Tseng rubbed his forehead and swung his leg up, a fist punching through the Barrier.

Unfortunately, he did not move fast enough.

Like the snares of a tangled briar patch, or more accurately, like zombies punching through the ground, they seized his leg, wrapping around it with the force of Hercules on steroids, pulling him off balance and into their dark embrace.

"Help!" he shouted in panic, reaching for the metal pole where the light was, lashing out at the newly formed pyramid of fan girls trying to haul him into the land of no return. This was it, he reasoned, he was going to be the only male Turk to ever die by fan girls.

A pale hand grasped his wrist, halting his decent. Daring to open his eyes, he stared up at the stoic Turk standing perfectly balanced atop the narrow pole as though it were nothing more than a balance beam. The fan girls continued to climb his leg, the pyramid folding beneath them.

"Your belt!" Rude shouted, reaching for the elder Turk's belt buckle. "Undo it now!"

"Are you insane?" Tseng scowled, his shoe falling to the pavement below, only to be gathered by a squealing fan girl as a trophy. "I'm not the type of person who drops their pants in public like some of you."

Rude scowled, cracking his knuckles and preparing to do the one thing that was against all ethics of the Turks. "Vincent, the Libra."

The stoic Turk momentarily considered just dropping their leader altogether at the request, kicking at one of the females who tried to climb onto the pole with them. Tseng really needed to cut his hair and look less Wutainese for this.

"I'll do it," Rude seized the materia, focusing on Tseng. "He's wearing-"

There was a ripping sound, Tseng shouting in surprise and trying to retain any and all dignity he knew was fast fleeing, his pants billowing downwards to the mass of fan girls swarming around it, leaving him dangling in Vincent's grasp, the cold breeze ruffling his rather colorful boxers.

"You're number three how?" the raven haired Turk asked, drawing their leader upwards to rest precariously upon the pole as the fan girls tore his pants to shreds with squeals of glee. It was only a matter of time now.

"Shut up and think of a way off of this thing," Tseng grumbled, trying in vain not to shove both of them off out of spite. Veld never had to deal with this sort of crisis. It just wasn't fair that he had to.

If Rude hadn't locked the keys in the car, none of this would have happened to begin with.

The pole swayed ominously, the fan girls regrouping for a second attack.

"This is like one of those zombie movies that doesn't end, only instead of brains they want ninja boy."

"I am not a ninja!"

"You should be. Maybe then they would leave you alone!"

Tseng sighed, watching the lights flicker to a closed sign for the crafting store. He had only one option left.

"Gentlemen," he began, the words stinging to his pride. "I need to borrow a phone."

Both lesser Turks exchanged looks of horror. Was Tseng actually giving up and calling for help?

There was a series of lights upon the horizon, moving forward like a blinding cavalry across the parking lot. The fan girls hissed and clawed at the brilliance of the lights, being driven into the shadows as though they had never existed. Tseng breathed a sigh of relief, two very impressed and almost scared looks greeting him.

"How did you-"

He pressed his hands together and did his best attempt at an acknowledging bow, just like Papa Tseng had taught him. "It is the way of all Turk leaders my inconsiderate subordinate. We are just that cool."

"Uh, Tseng," Rude removed his shades and rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve, pointing to the pavement below where a new set of people had gathered in seconds. "I think your 'ways' need a little work. You better call Cissnei now and admit defeat before she finds out on her own."

"Why would I-" He looked down to see the blond haired woman from the Shinra News Network standing in the parking lot, instructing her camera man on locations for the best shot of the light pole, and paled.

This was not going to be a bright spot on his permanent record.

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missons:**

**Will Tseng be able to retain his dignity long enough to think of a way out of this mess? Who is in the number for spot on the fan girl list? Will SageQuill's lazy Muse ever become unlazy enough to write the infamous of all infamous missions known as "_The Tiki Torch Mission_"?**

**Tune in next time folks!**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill ; ) **


	34. Mission 34 Operation Fruit Loop

**The Muse is back and chomping at the bit to get a new, exciting arc of missions up for ya'll! Well, hopefully. She thinks she's back in the game at least. You can judge that for yourself. Anyway. I hope this chapter amuses you at least and remember to let me know what you think!**

**Today's Mission Sponsored by: Chocobean brand premium gourmet coffees, teas, and more! Guaranteed to put hair on your chest and peel paint from you walls. The coffee of choice for painters, Muses, and your everyday leader of the Turks.**

**Mission Thirty Four - Operation Fruit Loop**

It had taken exactly one hundred and fifteen thousand gil in bail money, twenty three rounds of drinks at Goblins Bar, and one very suggestive dance by one Vincent Valentine to completely bury the events of the past two nights so that not even the nosey reporter perched outside of Shinra Headquarters with her blond locks drenched in rain and ear pressed against the door with her obedient cameraman in tow could dig them up to use as blackmail.

So it came as a complete surprise when Tseng strode into the Turks lounge earlier than usual on Tuesday morning to find a certain auburn-haired female Turk curled up on the couch, lavender floral quilt drawn up to her chin, snoring softly with her shuriken in hand and a small vial of what appeared to be an antidote within easy reach.

Tseng froze in mid-stride, one eyebrow cocked at an odd angle to observe the spectacle. He could not recall any time when one of his subordinates had ever chosen to sleep in the lounge. Their offices, yes. But this was something new, strange even. He reached a hand slowly for the light switch to the side of the entranceway and hesitated for a moment, uncertain if he wanted to disturb her.

Waking a sleeping Turk like Cissnei was about as appealing as offering to floss the teeth of a hunger ravaged Bahamut, and his Turk sense of survival was warning him against all attempts at reaching the empty coffee pot beckoning through the darkened room.

Still, he reasoned, it was worth the injuries he would sustain. If only for a few brief second, that sweet aroma of the elixir of life would be his, and only his. He'd very well earned it damn it, and he was not going to let the fear of his own subordinates deter him. Besides. It wasn't as though she had been the one stuck at the top of a lamppost all night, forced to endure hours of uncalled for pain at the hands of fan girls from all nations. No. From the looks of it, the only thing she had been through was having a relatively quiet evening in the lounge.

He would have to inquire about the reason for the antidote later though. To the best of his knowledge it was not a common thing for her to carry. SOLDIERs, yes. But female, shuriken-wielding Turks. Not so much.

Drawing a deep breath, he straightened his tie and stepped confidently into the lounge, not even daring look towards the couch as he picked his way towards the cherry wood cabinets where the tool of his trade was waiting for him. Smiling a hint of satisfaction, he opened to doors and retrieved the filters, taking extra care to ensure that none were creased. There could be no discrepancies for this particular mission this morning.

Coffee pot. Check. Filters. Check. Tseng smirked at the aluminum can resting in the far corner, the peaceful photograph of the ancient farmhouse with the pair of golden chocobos grazing lovingly behind a rustic wooden fence stared back at him. Ah yes. The smooth, slow roasted palate pleasing elixir of life, ground to perfection in the Modeoheim hills and just waiting to be brewed. He greedily screwed the top off in anticipation, hand trembling.

And found not one grain of coffee in the can.

Tseng blinked in horror, glancing at the couch where the female Turk dozed and back to the empty coffee can. What cruel trick was this? No coffee?

Messing with his daily addiction to the elixir of life was punishable by a fate worse than death. That was flirting with chaperoning Rufus's birthday party levels of punishment, or even worse, personally serving as Mr. Shinra's chauffeur for more than an hour in rush hour traffic. He had seen many a fine Turk resign after being faced with such a hell as the Sector Seven Beltway at five o'clock.

He stalked over to the couch, coffee can in hand, and swatted at the auburn haired female's shoulder. To hell with Bahumut. No dragon was going to stand between him and a cup of coffee. Not today. Not ever. "Cissnei!"

The creature beneath the blanket stirred briefly and promptly flipped him the middle finger, not even bothering to open her eyes. Tseng blinked in surprise. Had she just-

"Hey boss, you don't really wanna do that yo. She bites."

The elder Turk whipped around to stare at the tiny menace casually rowing across the filled to the brim sink, the tiny tin measuring cup bobbing up and down precariously as he navigated through the vicious forks and pans poking out of the greasy water with a wooden spoon.

"What did you do to my last sane Turk?"

Reno straightened his tiny crepe paper sailor suit depicting the emblem of the McMako's happy frosty mocha latte coronary shake and adjusted the orgami straw wrapper serving as an elaborate hat with a wink to his superior officer. Pointing to the slumbering Turk on the couch, he clicked his tongue proudly.

"My manly duties of the morning," he announced proudly, almost upsetting the makeshift boat. There was a low groan from the couch.

"Fruit Loops," she mumbled, attempting to rub the sleep from her amber eyes. "I've been poisoned by the Fruit Loops."

Tseng blinked, watching the unfortunate Turk burrow back under the blanket with a sickly pallor about her he had not noticed before. Guess that explained the industrial-strength antidote then. His questioning gaze fell upon the Turk in the measuring cup, the coffee crisis momentarily on the backburner until he could find a good reason to bring it up. Not that this wasn't the ideal time or anything. He could only imagine the excuse he was going to get for this one.

"This isn't what you think!" Reno waved his hands frantically in vain attempt to evade the empty coffee can landing in the water beside him and sending a wave over the rim of the boat.

"I'm listening." Tseng arched an eyebrow, crossed his arms across his chest, and tapped his foot against the ground in an effort to appear terrifying.

"Well, you see," Reno tried to appear innocent as humanly possible, failing miserably. "I thought I would be _nice _for a change."

"Stay mean," Cissnei hissed in her best attempt to sound healthy, earning a look of sympathy from her superior.

"What did you do, Reno?"

"Breakfast," the female Turk groaned. "He made breakfast."

"And it was damn good too yo." Reno defended adamantly. "You have no appreciation for fine dining."

Tseng was almost afraid to inquire as to what Reno considered 'fine' dining. Years of alcohol and Tobasco Nachos had just about eroded all of the red haired menace's taste buds, leaving little to be desired in his opinion of various foods, least of all breakfast.

"That was not _fine_ dining you idiot. You made my Fruit Loops lethal."

Lethal Fruit Loops. _Now _it was getting interesting. Tseng grit his teeth to prevent himself from chuckling at the very idea despite its seriousness.

"So I improvised a little." Reno brushed the comment off with a smirk. "Give me some credit. I was trying to help my vertically challenged friend grow a little."

Cissnei attempted to sit up to glare at her soon to be former comrade, a weak fire in her eyes and Rekka trembling in her grasp. "You tried to kill me you little insect!"

Tseng took a step away, painfully aware that he was in range of the shuriken should the irate female Turk decide to throw it for spite. Reno had really overstepped his boundaries this time.

"I still don't see how you put that bland soy stuff on your cereal every morning, let alone drink it. I was doing you a favor by coaxing out the natural flavor of the Fruit Loop. They feel so underappreciated at times."

"You. Tried. To. Kill. Me." The words were sharper than swords, trying to pierce the thick skull of her less than attentive comrade sailing once again around the sink.

"Besides, I only added a teeny tiny bit. You shouldn't have even noticed the difference."

"Trust me," she glared. "I noticed a lot quicker than you think. Whatever the hell you added turned innocent Fruit Loops into killers!"

The thick soled footsteps of two oblivious Turks filled the air from the direction of the elevator, prompting Tseng into attack mode. What now?

"Whoa," Vincent paused, staring at the disgruntled female Turk. "What in the hell happened to you. I knew you hit the green tea a little hard, but I never thought you'd get a hangover from it."

"She's not drunk," Tseng sighed. "Reno poisoned her."

At this, even Rude raised an eyebrow. He'd heard the faintest inkling of rumors that it could be done, but he had never actually seen anyone accomplish it. No one ever got past the female Turk's almighty Star Pendant's power. This was worth writing on the legend board for all to see.

"How in the hell did the runt manage to pull that one off?" Vincent fished a small notepad out of his blazer pocket and began writing the specifics down for the record.

"Poisoned Fruit Loops."

Both male Turks exchanged glances at their comrade's words. Had they heard that right? A level 73 elite Turk, capable of knocking any of them out at any given time with a mere throw of Rekka, second only to Tseng, had been brought down by a bowl of colorful cereal rings with an obnoxiously blue chocobo on the front?

Rude retrieved the Libra from his pocket, chancing his life on casting it on his comrade and raising an eyebrow at the results of his find. This Libra had to be broken. It just had to be.

It was Vincent who excused himself from the room first, trying to maintain the stony look of a man who never laughed in his lifetime at the results of the find. In all his years in the department, he never would have imagined that such a thing was even possible. "You're really afraid of cows?"

Cissnei groaned and tried to burrow under the covers in shame. This was the last time she ever allowed them use of her materia from now on. First she had succumbed to next to lethal Fruit Loops, and now they knew her weakness.

Reno gave a low whistle from the sink, clapping his hands together with a whoop of excitement at the proclamation, earning a disgruntled leer from Tseng.

"Way to go 'Nei! You just made things _very _interesting around here!" The red haired menace hopped onto the counter in glee. "Never knew anyone afraid of a barnyard animal before! So, like, is it only the black and white ones or the brown and red ones that scare you?"

"It's not funny," Tseng sighed, momentarily wishing he had a cup of coffee at the moment. Escorting one of his Turks to the Shinra Medical Wing, Sector ABT this early in the morning for a Fruit Loop related injury was not exactly how he had anticipated beginning his semi-normal life after the past two nights. And Reno was not making the situation any better.

"Tseng," she grumbled in misery. "Can you please feed him to Rufus's new pet for me?"

Tseng froze in horror. Rufus had a new pet? Why had he not been informed of this? "New pet?"

"I'll explain later," she groaned. "By the way, you need to check your mail. It's important this morning. Several missions of high priority."

"I'll check it then. Right now. Let's go get you cured of whatever the hell Reno put in those Fruit Loops. I need a sane person around here."

He offered the pale Turk a hand, assisting her to her feet and leading her towards the door with a glare to his other subordinates.

Something told him that today was going to be the longest day on Gaia.

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Just what does Tseng's mail have in store for him? **

**Tune in next time folks! You know you want to.**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	35. Mission 35 Operation Quick Thought

**Hi there folks. The Muse decided to go ahead and post this tiny little mission in her downtime. I hope you all enjoy it and it gets a laugh or two from ya'll. Don't worry. The really good missions are coming up soon. You'll see. ;) Also, the Muse is looking for the most humiliating employment careers out there. Feel free to suggest a few (keep it clean folks). Enjoy. ;) **

**Mission Thirty Five - Operation Quick Thought**

By noon, Tseng had already resigned himself to the fact that his day was not going to get any better. If anything, there was probably not going to be another day like this for a long time, and this was as good as it was going to get. He might as well make base camp on this side of the proverbial mountain of woe before an avalanche or three decided to sweep him back into the ravine he had just climbed out of.

So far today, one of his Turks had been admitted to Shinra General with the first case of Fruit Loop Poisoning ever recorded, one was having his three thousand mile probing by Hojo and Hollander, another had locked himself in the bathroom for some urgently important reason with a basket of hair care products, and the last -

"This is not cool yo."

Was currently rattling the bars of an ancient rodent cage said poisoned Turk had managed to pick up at a flea market late last night. The black fountain pen scratched across the fresh piece of paper. This was, for the most part, too mild for his liking. Something else had to be waiting in the shadows, biding its time for the perfect opportunity to spring out and -

"Tseng!"

Remind him that hell was indeed a very real place and the mountain of woe was his department to supervise.

"Yes Lazard?" The defeated Wutainese man glanced up from the paperwork, reaching for the emergency bootleg issue of _Fashion Monster Monthly_ he now kept on hand should the situation warrant it. If used properly, he'd have less than twenty three seconds to make his escape.

"It's horrible! Absolutely horrible!"

Tseng's hand retreated away from the magazine, one finger still on the bindings should he need it. Horrible to Lazard usually entailed a lost cuff link, and in real emergency, a missing sock lost in the laundry. Judging by the blond haired director's panicked strides towards the desk, he began assuming it was the socks. Definitely the socks.

"The aliens!" Lazard shrieked in horror, a deafening sound that made Reeve slam his office door shut across the hall and made the unfortunate lead Turk cringe and sink lower into his chair in defeat. "Ah! There's one in your office! Kill it!"

Reno blinked in surprise as the blond man's eyes appeared in front of the bars, a pencil whacking him alongside the shoulder and knocking him off of the cardboard paper tube he had been granted for a toy. Scrambling for cover amidst the paper towels serving as covering for the floor he just barely reached the corner before a second strike could send him careening into the water bottle hanging from the wall.

"What's your problem yo! I am not-"

Lazard reeled back in terror, reaching for a can of insect spray he kept on him for such emergencies. The tiny Turk paled and backed against the cage, searching for a weapon of any sort. Why had Cissnei taken away his plastic ninja sword again? Right. He had been poking her ear with it most of the night. Didn't she know he would need it for protection right now?

The cage jounced wildly, the hands of the elder Turk grasping the sides and hauling it out of range as the spray of Dead Bug Inc. drenched the desk in a fine residue with a scent that could knock a pigeon out of flight not far behind. Reno, for the first time in his life, felt that he finally owed his superior officer a brief sense of respect for the motion. Maybe even a favor. Nah. Favor was pushing it a bit.

"Why are you in my office again?"

The blond man hopped up and down, waving the pencil threateningly and pointing to the open window. "I've discovered the whereabouts of your missing Turks and who's behind it all!"

Both Tseng and Reno exchanged glances. Since when did Lazard mount his own investigations all of a sudden? More importantly…Why? It wasn't like any of them were missing at the moment. He knew exactly where they were.

"Oh? Really. That's quite nice of you Lazard, but I-"

The man's nose was inches from his face, the eerie glint of silver across the man's lenses from the dying desk lamp.

"It's the aliens again, Tseng." The pencil jabbed at the ruby dot in the center of his forehead, nearly taking an eye with it this time. "They're spying from that camera in your brain. For the love of mankind, you must have it removed as soon as possible. I'm begging you!"

At this, Tseng merely blinked. Hadn't they established already that the dot was a Wutainese custom and not a spy camera from another planet's inhabitants? Apparently not.

He began to hope that if the aliens did exist and abduct people they were not basing their sampling of mankind's intelligence solely on the bottom feeding life found in the Shinra Building. If that was the case, the planet would be destroyed by dinner.

"Listen, with all due respect Director, there is no alien space camera in my brain-"

"But how do you know? What if they're watching right now? Plotting their next attempt at taking over the planet and brainwashing you to be their host?" The Director's eyes widened in horror. "Tseng, you must hurry before they take over any more hosts! The entire fate of the planet depends upon it!"

The soon to be former Turk paled, gently swatting the pencil aside with as much calmness as he could without drawing the pistol and shooting the man in front of him. Being melted into a bubbling pile of oozing goo was not how he intended on spending his afternoon. He had work to do, missions to read up on, and a very long overdue cup of the elixir of life he was in desperate need of.

"Don't be foolish. The aliens have no intention of-"

"They vaporized one of your Turks during the attack of the toilets! How can you be so blind to their motives!"

Motives? Tseng thought to himself. If turning 10,000 toilets into weapons was part of their motives, he was almost afraid to even think about what they did for fun. Perhaps a quick call to Junon was in order this afternoon. If anything, just to speak with his therapist. Wait, he scowled. Did he even have a therapist? He'd have to check with his little black book. Holy he needed that coffee right now.

"You have nothing to worry about Lazard. I can assure you that-"

"She must have known." The blond man began pacing, rubbing his chin again as Reno fashioned a toothpick into a longbow and grabbed a small pin, trying to aim for the man's elbow.

"Excuse me?"

"Your other Turk, the one in the hospital. You know, the one who uses a step latter to get her mail each morning."

"You mean, Cissnei?" He quietly undid the cage door to Reno's prison, silently nudging the Turk towards freedom and scrawling something on a piece of paper, tapping it so that the red haired menace would read it. "She'll be fine Lazard. Just a minor incident while cooking this morning."

"So they want you to think." Lazard scowled, pausing to look at a book upon the shelf. "I've been doing research on the aliens of the planet Flushoria."

Tseng planted his palm across his eyes with a groan of defeat. Coffee. Where was his damn coffee.

"First the go for a test run with their vaporizing ray guns disguised as plungers, usually an unsuspecting, impulsive creature who might give them problems later. Then they move on to the brighter ones who might blow their cover, implanting microchips and spy cameras, effectively snatching their bodies for their own sinister uses."

Reeve had to stop loaning his collection of sci-fi books out to just anyone.

"You don't notice anything, at first. But as time passes, it's the little things that bring mankind to its knees. An empty toilet paper roll when it is most needed, the closest one being three floors down and across the Plexiglas walkway. A broken flusher. No air fresheners! Oh Holy Tseng, mankind shall surely die a horrific death if we do not do anything! And you," he grabbed the Turk by the blazer and shook him. "You hold the key to it all. Save us oh great and mighty alien ally. Our fate is in your hands!"

He made a mental note to suggest for Angeal to run to the grocery store for the surplus pack of the super rolls from now on and to always keep them in view of their director at all times. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his red haired savior hurrying into a crack in the wall with the piece of paper strapped to his back with a slew of rubber bands, a smart salute his reward.

"Lazard. Rest assured that I will do my best to ensure that the aliens do not harm any of us. I've got people on it right now as we speak."

And he realized he'd said the wrong thing to a man like Lazard, again.

"The tiny alien has escaped! Holy! It's begun! We're all doomed! Doomed I tell you!" Tseng watched the blond haired director flee from his office, waving his hands in shouts of woe and panic as he made his way to the elevator and a resounding crash following.

His phone rang less than four seconds later.

_"I take it you read that mission Cissnei retrieved this morning?"_ Reeve's voice inquired, making the elder Turk raise an eyebrow as to why the man even bothered calling when they could see each other perfectly fine from where they were sitting.

"Actually," he moved several pieces of paper aside, revealing the manila envelop. Immediately, the red tape across the top caught his attention. From the President? He hadn't expected it to be that urgent. "I'm just about to read it."

_"Do yourself a favor, Tseng,"_ Reeve advised with a defeated sigh of his own. _"Book yourself a nice long cruise to someplace uncharted with all the beer, whisky, and chocolate you possibly can, and take that long overdue vacation. You're going to need every minute of it for your sanity's sake."_

"It can't be that bad, Reeve." After all. He'd just witnessed an absurd rant on aliens and send his tiny Turk on an urgent mission against his better judgment. Nothing on the planet could-

He dropped the phone, the receiver clattering to the ground with a rattling thud.

_"Tseng? Are you alright?"_

He needed his eyes checked. Bi-no, Quadfocals. There was no way his eyes were seeing any of the words Cissnei had highlighted for him to see.

"Reeve," his voice was shaky at best. "If I wanted to fake my own death, where would I start?"

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**What exactly did Tseng see that has him checking out ****_The Turk's Guide to Faking Your Own Death_ from the local library?**

**Tune in next time folks! Admit it, you're curious. **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	36. Mission 36 Operation Save A Dynasty

**The Muse presents to you another fun mission for our favorite Turks. Heh heh heh. The gateway to the first of the new mission arc has been opened. I hope you all enjoy it. **

**Mission Thirty Six - Operation Save A Dynasty**

They were the finest of the Shinra Elite. Cloak and dagger assassins trained with over five hundred thousand ways amongst them on how to successfully assassinate, humiliate, assimilate, or just down right annoy whatever unfortunate being drew the target card. Terrifying beings to the average eye, the bane of ceramic garden gnomes everywhere. Four individuals with absolutely nothing to fear but a bowl of 'harmless' Fruit Loops, the occasional rabid fan girl, and the ever so popular copy machine in the office. He'd personally agreed to never hold anyone accountable for fleeing for their lives from that machine in particular, especially with its reputation for disliking midnight blue blazers and for some odd reason, ties.

And yet Tseng was actually a tiny bit surprised to find three of the four standing before his desk, passing the folder from individual to individual. Rude's sunglasses fell from his face as he raised both eyebrows in mortified shock, not even bothering to retrieve them as he quickly passed the envelope containing the latest mission from the president of all people to his auburn haired comrade, who emitted a tiny squeak of horror and nearly threw the folder at Vincent, who merely scowled at his two comrades' behaviors.

It was a simple, cut and dry - His brow furrowed, crimson eyes rereading the fine print - mission. What trickery was this? Surely this had to be some form of a cruel, unusual joke.

"You have got to be kidding me," he groaned, banging his head against the bookshelf and allowing the folder to flop atop the desk, its contents scattering for all to see. "Can I please go play with Hojo today? Pretty please? I'll be a good specimen. I mean. I'll try not to bite him this time."

"What's the _Big Book of Turk Mission Protocol _say about this one?" Rude inquired, watching their female counterpart flip through the worn pages to the index, scowling at the tiny font.

"Let's see," she turned the pages. "Laundry, copying speeches, undercover lingerie model, volcanic eruption, confetti blindness, not seeing it, Rude."

"Check again. Try the Impossible Category."

She nodded, panicking as she continued to read. "Fan girls. Parenthood. Missing socks missions. Meteor striking the Shinra Building. Sephiroth going psycho. Staging an intervention for Genesis's LOVELESS obsession. Sir, with all due respect, these missions don't even begin to describe this one. I'm not seeing anything even close."

"That's it," Vincent threw his hands into the air with a sigh of defeat. "We're screwed."

Tseng closed his eyes with a fleeting sense of pity for his underlings. This was a mission he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemies. Not even SOLDIER deserved something of this caliber, and they were notorious for suffering through karaoke night at Goblin's Bar every Saturday evening from seven until midnight. It was a small wonder Sephiroth was even remotely sane from the warbling singing of Fair and Hewley.

"Calm down." Their fearless leader stood up, smoothing his blazer and intertwining his fingers together with 'the look' in his obsidian hazel eyes. "I have a plan."

The three Turks exchanged glances. Tseng, have an actual plan. They really were staring at the Doomsday Mission of all Doomsday missions contained within that folder.

"We-"

The door slammed open, revealing the blond haired menace himself, golden polo shirt stained with nachos and a golf club swung over his shoulder lazily. Tseng cringed. Some people should not wear tight white shorts, and this boy was one of them. "My father told me to retrieve the miserable peons. I assume that would be you four. He's waiting in the elevator."

The elevator? Tseng raised an eyebrow. Since when did anyone choose to hold a meeting in the elevator? Then again, this was the man who had somehow managed to father this _thing _standing in the doorway. No human could possibly have that much hair on their legs. He felt his three underlings gravitate to the far corner of the room, obviously contemplating the sight before them, or moreso, morbidly in shock and awe. How this man even made the Fangirl Monthly Hottest Male list was a mystery he did not wish to delve into.

He reminded himself to ask Cissnei about the female mentality later.

"Do not let us keep you from your golf-"

"Polo," the young man corrected snidely. "I'm late for an important polo match."

Polo? In Midgar of all places? Tseng shook his head. He couldn't even imagine the poor chocobos involved with this boy at the reins. He couldn't even stay aboard Chocobo Billy's Chocobo Rides around the kiddie ring while it was being led by a professional. Some things one did not ask about, and, Tseng nodded, this was one of those things. Instead, he merely nodded and gestured to his Turks.

"We shall not keep you then. Best of luck, Sir."

Rufus stuck his nose in the air and marched towards the elevator, the golf club catching upon the corner of the doorframe and drawing him backwards with the force of his stride. Four slightly amused, feigning horror Turks watched their future leader tumble onto the carpet with a cry of surprise, the golf club whacking him in the back of the skull. For several seconds, he twitched and fell still.

Reeve opened his office door with a raised eyebrow of horror, noting the blond haired man Tseng was nudging with the toe of his loafer.

"Good god man, you didn't need to murder him. A simple phone call would have scared him away."

Vincent retrieved the golf club and poked the young man between the shoulder blades, receiving a grunt in response.

"He'll live," Tseng stepped over the fallen future president and strode towards the elevator. "Come on, we have a meeting with an idiot to attend to."

**Some time later...Location: Elevator, floor 65 A.**

"But, Sir," Cissnei protested, backing into the corner of the elevator to avoid being stepped on by an equally nervous Rude. "This is absurd. We can't do something like that."

The heavy blond man shifted his weight and adjusted his hideous, three sizes too small, mauve tweed suit to prove a point, eyes upon the pair in the corner as he pinned Vincent to the wall with his back.

"You have no choice in the matter." President Shinra replied gruffly, trying to sound important for a change. "This is a matter of national security that must be dealt with immediately or dire consequences will follow."

Always about security, Tseng mused. Dire consequences to President Shinra usually involved the last of the black-market pastries being eaten by Hollander or Heidegger first thing in the morning. He's seen departments go to war over something like that, which was partially why he banned them for his own department. Then again, the worse they ever did was destroy most of the building with their escapades. Nothing lethal at least, yet.

"Who-" Vincent grunted, trying to get away from the man pinning him to the wall. "Might I ask would be stupid enough to challenge _you_ for election again?"

The man in the tweed burgundy suit's eyes narrowed. For a moment, he fiddled with the button on the elevator, closing the door completely and catching Tseng's shirtsleeve in it. The Wutainese man flinched at the ripping sound as he tried to break free.

"He's a powerful foe who must be crushed, obliterated, ruined in both reputation and spirit." His fist struck the bald Turk's shoulder to prove a point, making the man flinch. "I want this election rigged so that no one, and I mean no one can win against me and take away my morning pastry. I don't care how you do it. Lawyers, guns, gil, aggressive Cosmo Canyon snapping turtles, a pack of ninja squirrels. Do whatever it takes to win this election and ensure my dynasty lives on"

Dynasty? The Turks raised silent eyebrows at the thought. That 'dynasty' was currently unconscious due to a golf club. They really were in the End Days.

"But Sir," Tseng held a hand up, trying to protect his other Turks from being beaten up even worse than they already were. "You haven't even mentioned who this guy is yet. How will we know who to humiliate."

Again, the man glared.

"Oh, you'll know him alright. He creeps through the masses every day, making 'friends' with his minions. They raise flags in salute to him and rush to ensure he receives their gifts, often paying him for the service! He's even got his own fan club!" President Shinra withdrew a small piece of folded paper, handing it to the leader of the Turks. "He's number five on the list."

One could have heard a pin drop at the silence.

**-- **

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Reno, oh Reno. Wherefore art thou oh Reno. And who is this mystery number five dude running against President Shinra for election?**

**Tune in next time folks. You never know what's gonna happen next. Heh heh heh. **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :)**


	37. Mission 37 Operation Wrong Mission

**Okay, so hopefully the Muse is going to have some extra time to dedicate to this fic in the next few weeks - hopefully. Until then, the missions will be kinda short and quick. I'm hoping they at least make ya'll laugh, smile, whatever makes ya'll happy, especially with the ones I have planned for after this one. Enjoy folks.**

**Mission Thirty Seven - Operation Wrong Mission**

Reno Jebediah Sinclaire took pride in his ability to be a semi-descent Turk when the need arose. He could lay out a foe with a swift flick of his EMR, steal their wallet, and even manage to humiliate them before they even hit the ground with a one word witty response. But, for life of him, he couldn't quite figure out where in the hell he was.

He must have been drinking. Yes. That was it. He's managed to get into the whiskey cabinet somehow and pour himself a few good drinks, eventually staggering back to wherever it was Tseng had assigned him to go. He blinked stupidly. Either Tseng had a cruel sense of humor and was teaching one of his epic lessons on why not to piss him off, or he really had been drinking and screwed this up.

There was a giant eyeball looking through the window and he didn't know who, or what it belonged to.

Hazel. The startled Turk made a mental note of it. The eye, from what he could see from the corner of the hideous yellow window frame with a set of brittle plastic curtains that looked more like some sort of chocobo candy wrappers, was hazel. He ran the possibilities over in his head, pressing his back against the powder pink dresser and tightened the fuzzy cotton ball pillow around his otherwise bare waist.

Tseng? No, he reasoned. The eye was not squinty enough to be Wutainese. Rude? Why would Rude be looking through a window to begin with? Vincent maybe? Nah, wrong color and he wasn't turned into a stone statue from it.

His heart began to race. He didn't recognize the eyeball from any one of the possible suspects, making it, rather plainly, something worth investigating. The red haired Turk reached for his cell phone to call one of his comrades, preferably Cissnei, who would be more than happy to tell him just what in the hell was looking through the window at him and then tell him how much of an ass he was for inquiring.

Giant eyeball monsters didn't exist. At least that's what everyone had told him. Worse yet, he'd believed them and now there was one right in front of him.

Where in the hell was his cell phone when he needed it? More importantly, he scowled. Someone had stolen his clothing, leaving him with little more than this fuzzy pillow thing to cover himself with.

Why in the hell was the wall purple with pink polka dots? And the orange carpet plastic-like beneath his bare feet?

Was that carpet a giant sticker of a smiling sunshine?

The eyeball blinked, a pudgy, somewhat stunted finger poking through the tiny window and swatting him against the wall. He stiffened in terror. This thing had appendages. Now he wasn't just drinking anymore, but on either a serious simulation of life in the future, or he too had partaken of the tainted Fruit Loops. They'd tasted fine to him.

"Dolly!"

He cringed, the wall rattling with the high pitched warble of what appeared to be some sort of giant younger humanoid behind the eyeball. This was not good. Not good at all.

Okay, his mind raced, scanning the dim surroundings of the small room. One door of escape from the looks of it with a tiny plastic lamp. Not even the dorms in Midgar's lowest ranking infantry bunkers were this chincy. Someone must have suffered from the budget cut slaughter.

The eyeball blinked again, the entire structure shaking with a violent crunch.

Damn, he thought, cowering against the plastic pink dresser and grabbed the red lamp defensively.

"Dolly come out of hiding!" The floor heaved, casting the small bed onto its side and spilling tiny clothes hangers across the floor. Reno paled, a bruise forming across his backside at the impact with a tiny plastic animal that he assumed was to be some sort of collie dog, maybe, he really couldn't tell beyond the coating of sidewalk chalk over its hide.

The giant humaniods held some semblance of brute force and intelligence. This was so not in his training. Again, his entire world shifted, the ceiling tilting ninety degrees, casting him against one of the small staircases leading to nowhere, the unfortunate collie dog landing against his chest.

Clothing. He needed to find his clothing before he could do anything.

Gritting his teeth, he surveyed what he had to work with from the clothing piled haphazardly in the corner of the shaking room. Two frilly princess dresses, a snap on tiara, and a pair of what appeared to be synthetic leather pants.

Either Tseng really was a twisted psycho who got his kicks from tormenting his underlings, or someone had given Cissnei full authority to seek revenge. Never in the history of the Turks or any other excuse for a blackmailing, second rate, assassinating, civilized group of young men and women had anyone ever been stupid enough to grant such a request.

Even commander Veld had banned the paperwork. And that was saying something for a man who worked three days out of the year and received a ten figure salary each month.

"This is not funny yo!" He held the pants up with a look of disgust. There was no way these would fit, but he was a Turk, and Turks made use of whatever they could in a dire emergency.

The eyeball appeared, closer, more vivid than ever, a tiny fist punching through the open doorway, flicking him onto the balcony further down the hallway with a squeal of horrific joy.

"Help!" he squeaked, fingers curled around the railing as the peach chicobo shirt rushed into view, a sticky hand covered in what appeared to be the remnants of a popcicle wrapping around his body and plucking him into the air without second thoughts.

He was going to die today. The grim reality struck him with the crushing of his legs deeper into the sticky popcicle flesh. Grape. His least favorite flavor in the popcicle world. This truly was the hell his comrades had spoken of.

His tiny hands beat the calloused flesh of the two year old's finger in vain attempt to convince the toddler to release his death grip. The toddler warbled in joy, shaking the Turk up and down playfully and slamming him against the carpeted floor.

"Ouch! Hey!" The carpet grazed his shoulder, giving him a headache. Giant toddler people. The Apocalypse was upon them. "Quit it!"

He could only hope that his comrades would not suffer the same, humiliating end to their own miserable lives.

It isn't all bad, he tried to reason, the toddler squealing with joy once more and throwing him against the plastic dollhouse, only to retrieve his stunned form seconds later. At least he was still going to die with some semblance of dignity to his name.

The toddler began chewing on his arm, drool seeping all over his hair.

"Ewww," he flinched, trying once again to escape the giant humanoid's mouth. "Hasn't your mother ever told you not to put toys intended for older children into your mouth! You must be five years old or older to play with me! Besides, my lead content is through the roof. I'm not going to be a very healthy snack."

The toddler continued to slobber all over his arm, undeterred by the warning.

"Ow!" He kicked at the child's chin, scanning the room for anything of use he could immediately reach. A child's playroom, judging by the amount of building blocks scattered around.

Building blocks. Reno's eyes lit up. He could use this to his advantage.

"Alright you little happy-go-lucky humanoid giant eyeball freaky thing, I've really got to go hang out with my other friends who really miss me, so I can't play with you." The toddler held him up in front of the big hazel eyes, as though to study him an understand the words. Reno smiled. "Good. I see we understand each other. So if you could just put me down-"

"Dolly go in safe place!"

"Yes, Reno go to safe place-"

The toddler raised him into the air with another deafening squeal of joy. Alas, he was going to escape this hell and get back to his mission. Yes. Making amends with his comrades was sounding good right about now.

Wait. His eyes widened. Why wasn't he being thrown towards the doorway as anticipated. That almost looked like-

"No! No! NO!" The world shifted to a cotton and plastic darkness, the stench invading his senses as the toddler forced him into the void of no return.

If he survived this, which was looking to be a very slim possibility at this point, he was going to make sure that his letter of resignation was on Tseng's desk first thing.

"Not funny yo!" The Turk shouted, struggling to crawl out of the diaper as quickly as humanly possible. Being minified sucked now. He'd made up his mind. Once he escaped from this humanoid toddler, he was going to beg everyone and anyone to turn him back to normal size.

"Dolly! Dolly! Dolly!" The toddler danced around on wobbly legs, the Turk flinching as he managed to get a foothold on the diaper's fabric and crawled halfway over the top. This was beyond special mission. This was just plain cruelty.

The ground rushed up to meet him, the toddler's foot landing on his leg and pressing him into the coarse bristles. He yelped in pain, reaching towards a plastic GI-SOLDIER rifle clutched in the plastic hands of another unfortunate doll coated in fingerpaints.

"Sorry yo. I need this." The ground shook with the toddlers steps towards him, prompting him into panic mode. He needed to get out of here, now.

"Dolly no run away! Play with me!"

"No thanks!" The Turk scurried across the floor towards the partially open doorway. "I don't wanna play anymore yo!"

"Play with me!"

A fist swept across the ground beside him, the toddler crashing into the tower of building blocks, sending them flying into the air in all directions. Reno flinched, the high warbling cry of pain all humanoid creatures were capable of making filling the air.

But at least he was safe for the time being. Slinging the fake rifle over his shoulder, he began walking around the toy littered room towards the exit, daring to whistle despite the humanoid's high pitched cry.

"What's the matter sweetie?"

Reno froze, the whistle dying in his throat. This humanoid had managed to summon a forced greater than anyone - the mother giant humanoid.

"Eek! A mouse!"

"I'm not a mouse!" He skirted behind a building block, a shoe kicking the ground around him in attempt to trample him. This was just not his mission. "Stop trying to kill me lady!"

The foot swept through the air quicker with another angered shriek, sending him flying through the air and into the hallway beyond. The Turk dusted himself off with a disgruntled snort. At least he hadn't managed to hit a wall this time.

The woman's shriek filled the air again, this time with the sound of a vacuum cleaner filling the air. Reno trembled. From one extreme to the other. Someone needed to rewrite the entire Turk handbook to incorporate the impossible. He looked around in semi-sane panic, vowing never to drink again.

Standing on the fringe of the champagne carpet by the crack in the wooden wall, whiskers twitching with a high pitched squeak of horror, was his salvation.

**--**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Tseng's mission to rig an election begins…**

**Tune in Next time folks. You know you want to. **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	38. Mission 38 Operation Coffee Crisis

**Whew, I did not forget about you missions people. Sorry about the wait and even moreso sorry about the quality of the missions, this one included. The Muse has been super busy lately with zero time for much of anything, let alone missions. I do hope to get more up soon and have them actually be "roll on the floor, laughing out loud, comical". I really do. Until then, please enjoy this one and I hope it makes you at least smile at Tseng's expense. **

**Mission Thirty Eight - Operation Coffee Crisis**

By the third red light, fifteenth jaywalking pedestrian, and eighth idiot changing lanes without turn signals on LOVELESS Boulevard, he was beginning to wonder just why he had even bothered to undertake such a task as this one to begin with.

Because you're the best friend, Reeve grumbled in the back of his mind, considering shoving the disgruntled Turk occupying the seat beside him into traffic as the light changed yet again back to that horrific color the once peaceful engineer now considered to be the devil's icon.

The Devil. Tseng had somehow managed to tick off the guy in the red suit with the pitchfork and this was his punishment. Reeve sighed, drumming the wheel with his fingers and trying to remember just how much of a fine he would get if he hit the gas pedal at that particular moment.

"Maybe you're taking this whole thing way too much to heart," he suggested, half expecting the leader of the Turks to draw his weapon and try to shoot him once again. It wouldn't be the first time today. After all, that little old man feeding the pigeons had just about had a coronary when they had been stopped by the first of the series of lights. And he was pretty sure somewhere a small child was repeating several forbidden words to a parent who would no doubt try to track them down eventually with a summons to be silenced for life. Such was the luck of unfortunate cursed engineers trying to be nice to even worse cursed Turks in need.

"Reeve," the leader of the Turks rubbed his forehead with a groan, watching an evil college student in a parka pondering whether or not to cross at a 'do not cross' sign. "In the past three hours, I have had to fill out an accident report over a bowl of Fruit Loops, been cornered by an overweight moron in serious need of some sort of therapy in an elevator, watched my not so polo playing future employer knock himself out with a golf club, been informed that I have three weeks to make the most hated man on earth the most popular amongst people, and ran out of coffee. Please, do tell me why I need not be concerned over this at the moment."

The engineer took a deep breath and pulled into the right lane, flipping on the turn signal and turning onto the familiar street he knew by instinct. Unless you counted the fact that for some oddball reason, he has accidentally managed to successfully divide by zero and somehow not blow the entire universe up while doing it, he really couldn't top the day his best friend was having. But, he did know a quick cure.

"Perhaps a little bit of caffeine could do something about that. I know this great little coffee shop just a few blocks from here. They can make whatever type you like."

The Turk looked up with pleading, if not admiral eyes, as if someone had magically turned the spotlight upon the man in the driver's seat and begun to sing a chorus of hymns and praises. Caffeine. Yes. That would solve all of Tseng's current problems, or at least make them seem insignificant in the game of life he totally sucked at. Coffee fixed everything.

Reeve smiled and pulled into a vacant parking space, turning the ignition off and stepping out to guide the caffeine deprived leader of the Turks towards the small building situated on the corner of LOVELESS and Eighth.

It was not a very large building, a powder blue color with tinted windows and a half door salvaged from some sort of barn, but the neon coffee cup perched atop the doorframe, flashing its siren call did more to outshine the remaining flaws of the otherwise interesting building. To someone like Tseng, it was an entry into paradise.

"Welcome to StarCrooks," the youth behind the counter greeted, blond hair falling around his shoulders and making him look more feminine than the Turk and engineers wanted to admit. Tseng raised an eyebrow suspiciously. Hadn't he seen that lad before somewhere?

"Good morning," Reeve casually replied, glancing over the extensive menu behind the counter. "I'd like to order a caramel latte with extra whipped cream and possible sprinkles."

The youth nodded, jotting the order down and looking at the Turk, several shades paler than before.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"N-No sir, you don't know me." the youth's eyes turned shifty and evasive if not downright nervous. "I'm just your every day coffee wench. Nothing to see here, I don't know you from anywhere. You didn't accidentally buy black market pastries from me. No. Never met you before. What can I get for you today?"

Reeve raised an eyebrow and looked from Turk to coffee boy, uncertain if he even wanted to know. There were some things engineers did not ask and relations were part of the category.

"Coffee, with two creams and sugar please." The Wutainese man ordered, the youth behind the counter blinking in confusion.

"Um…Do you want the skinny cow creamer, or the Whoa Mama You Need Slim Fast creamer?"

Tseng blinked. All he wanted was a tiny bit of creamer to flavor the coffee. Through the darkness of the cosmos somewhere, something warned the unfortunate leader of the Turks to surrender now and abandon all hope, go back to the office, and just suffer through the day.

The coffee addiction won.

"Just regular creamer."

"We don't have regular creamer," the youth paled even further, his hand trembling as he tried to keep Reeve's order from being destroyed. He could vaguely recall something in the manual about serving drinks to Turks, but at the moment, he couldn't quite remember what it was. "We have a Just Watching Your Waistband creamer. That's kinda in between."

"Fine." Tseng sighed in exasperation. All he wanted was a simple coffee, was that difficult?

"And for your sugar? Would you like Diabetic Coma, Instant ADD, Non-Sugar Substitute Sugar-"

"On second thought," The Turk sighed, admitting defeat. "Can I just have a cup of plain black coffee?"

"Sir, we cannot serve plain black coffee. It's considered racist."

At this, the leader of the Turks looked at the engineer who had decided to put him through this hell and fingered the handle of the pistol. Reeve winced and looked at the poor, terrified youth behind the counter.

"Look. My friend here is going through a rough time in his life right now and needs something strong, yet tolerable. Sweet, but not so sweet. Just a little pick me up to get through the day. Think you can manage something like that?"

The youth nodded earnestly, scrawling something down and running off to mix the caffeinated beverage. Tseng's jaw dropped.

"How did you-"

"It's called Caffeinese. Understood by all baristas across the country. You'll learn it sooner or later."

And Tseng had one more reason to respect the irate engineer's knowledge of the world.

Ten minutes later, two very appealing drinks were set before the two Shinra executives in cute Styrofoam cups depicting tiny little moogles flying around and wearing funny costumes. Reeve paid for the drinks and tipped the barista, leading the way back into the street towards their car.

"So, what do you think?"

Tseng scowled. "I don't like the looks of this Reeve…"

The engineer halted, staring in surprise at his comrade. Tseng, not like coffee? Was the man really ill or something much worse. He opened his mouth to inquire, but the figure rounding the corner made him rethink the action.

"Me neither. Let's-"

"Behold! The gift of the goddess befalls us all!" A hand draped across his shoulders out of nowhere, nearly shoving him into the side of the black sedan and nearly spilling his latte all over the vehicle. Reeve trembled in horror, the insane SOLDIER looking upwards at the streetlight with a somber expression, tears falling from his eyes as he swung his copy of LOVELESS around carelessly, colliding with Tseng's shoulder.

And all three human beings watched in mortifying fascination as the Triple calorific heart attack deluxe frappamochalatteexpressachino flew through the air, and right into the grasp of the sinister college student crossing the street, never to be seen again.

Tseng groaned, burrowing his head into his hands, resisting the urge to sob over the unfortunate turn of events. It just was not his day - ever. The engineer watched as the sinister member of SOLDIER hopped off along the street, nose buried in his book as though nothing had happened.

And Reeve knew from that moment onward, that there was no force on earth strong enough to help a Turk like Tseng.

--

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**There are just some things you do not send certain Turks to do…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	39. Mission 39 Operation Psychic Power

**Hi there folks! The Muse felt inspired enough to churn out this mission for ya'll to enjoy (she hopes you enjoy it anyway). She really is trying to get her groove back for the missions and feel the love for them once more. I'll let you be the judge of that. Hopefully, one of these upcoming missions will be the one to bring the Muse back into the game swinging. Maybe. Anyway. Enjoy folks! By the way, don't forget to vote in the poll! ;)**

**Mission Thirty Nine - Operation Psychic Power**

Rude of the Turks had a secret. A secret so secret that he was the only one who knew about it. It was not just a secret, but _the _secret that defined his very existence in their elite organize.

"I think this is the place."

He was a psychic.

Not the type of psychic that sat behind the silk curtains with a useless crystal ball at the yearly festival, nor the tele-a-psychic employed to offer certain higher ups advice on what to do next (they were still waiting on those lottery numbers for the retirement fund) to ruin a perfectly good company. But a _psychic _sort _of _psychic.

He was feeling the mythical powers that be as he watched his auburn haired partner in crime halt at the dirt path, coordinates in hand with that puzzled look about her that was not too unlike a rather puzzled chocobo who's first experience on the racetrack involved being shuffled into a dark box and beaten with a stick. Not that the poor chocobo might not have done something rather deserving of such a fate or anything. But still…

The wrought iron gate swung against the bars with a shriek, making the younger Turk jump in surprise and reach for her shuriken. It didn't take a psychic with a convincing sixth sense to tell her that this was a bad idea. She'd already figured that much the moment she double checked the coordinates against the under-funded, outdated database used by Turks across the world to get lost in their own neighbors quickly. Rude was just there for extra assurance.

Not that she suspected him of being a real psychic of course, because no one but Rude knew that. Still, it was a welcome comfort to have someone like him for a mission like this, especially with the horrific howl of the inevitable bane of all Turks echoing from the pretty pink swing set tucked beneath the colorful maple tree by the far wall - preschoolers at play.

"So," she began, struggling to hide her own worry over Tseng's brilliant idea to accomplish a mission with the delicacy of Level GF. "How should we even go about this this."

He handed her a pair of binoculars and pointed to the tree above the swing set, watching her return a glare of stoic annoyance.

"You're kidding right?"

The bald Turk shook his head. "Nope. Our orders are to observe the enemy making a business dealing from these coordinates."

The female Turk scanned the piece of paper with a scowl, eyeing the preschoolers warily. "I could just stand under the tree and look through the fence you know. No one would see us from there. I'm sure Tseng wouldn't-"

"Just climb the tree, Cissnei. It'll be okay. Nothing is going to jump out and push you out of it. I promise."

And it was the truth, to the psychic within anyway. To the balding Turk, he could sense the younger Turk's unrest about the situation. Those branches looked fairly fragile, even for the colorful leaves clinging to them against the chill autumn wind. A bad omen, especially with the flock of crows that surged from it the closer they walked, cawing out a warning that sounded like 'morons' in their freaky crow language.

"Yeah," she swung the binoculars over her shoulder and stalked over to the park bench beneath it, trying to recall her insurance policy regarding trees and broken bones. "I'll just watch my dignity be mauled to pieces by preschoolers while en route to the hospital for the second time today. One more time and I get a free admission and will end up dating the x-ray technician."

The branches crackled with the youngest Turk scurrying into their embrace, trying to find semi decent footholds the higher she climbed, eyes upon the balding Turk watching her below.

Less than three minutes later, she'd located the ideal spot, parting the branches to peer through the lenses at the street corner beyond the wrought iron fence.

"See anything yet?"

"Not yet-" she adjusted the lenses quickly, panning to the left to locate the mysterious figure in brown peering around suspiciously beside the brilliant blue box cemented to the sidewalk. "Wait. I think I see our man."

"And-"

She waved a hand for silence, trying to zoom in on the familiar polo shirt and brown shorts, noting the symbol on the side of the sack worn across his shoulders. The binoculars dropped from her hand in shock.

It was impossible, definitely impossible, she assured herself, trying to remain calm. Anyone could be wearing something as ridiculous as the slightly graying man currently robbing the mailbox, and no one say anything out of respect. Anyone right? Her trembling hand retrieved the offending binoculars and once again zoomed in, the horrific reality building with the way he sashayed down the street, only to stop and hold up a hand of greeting to an unseen individual behind the lamp post.

He was the highest leveled, most intelligent human being in all of Midgar aside from a select few sewer rats. _The_ most respected, humbled, highest regarded being ever to harvest their letters in the rain and drive the colorful pickup truck through any and all alleyways, turn signals on and steering wheel on the wrong side of the seat.

A proud servant savant of the regional Shinra Postal Service.

"Holy-" She paled. "Rude. Do you have that list Tseng gave you? The one from the magazine by any chance."

"You're supposed to be looking for our presidential rival, not babe magnets, Cissnei."

"Number five." Her eyes narrowed at the words, the binoculars once again in hand as she studied the target who was…their worst nightmare with his shorts of immortality. "He's the mailman."

Rude raised an eyebrow and adjusted his shades, pulling the sacred list from his pocket and reading downward in horror. There it was, etched beneath the blazing number five upon the list. Why had he not noticed the name before?

"Cissnei-"

"Rude!" she shouted, the branch bending violently with her frantic movement to keep the binoculars trained upon their victim. "We have a runner. He's headed for the truck!"

The bald Turk sprang into action, darting for the street as the auburn haired Turk landed with a soft thud upon the grass, Shuriken at the ready as she bolted for the trusty motorcycle parked along the curb.

She jabbed the keys into the ignition and fired the bike to life, her comrade grasping her shoulders with a nod of approval, roaring into traffic in pursuit of the familiar pickup truck weaving about hazardously in vain attempt to reach the jump off point for the freeway.

**Inside the mail truck…**

The mailman paled when he looked in his rear view mirror, a sense of déjà vu filling the recesses of his mind. This time, he would finish this once and for all, or at least long enough to make final postmark time.

Drastic times called for drastic measures. He picked up his cell phone and dialed a number, waiting for the voice to pick up on the other side. A click of connection was his reward.

"Hello?"

"Stamp Licker to Udderman, I have a situation."

"This is Udderman," the voice responded, the truck hitting a speed bump. "What's the problem."

"They're back."

**Outside…**

"Go go go!"

"I'm trying!" Cissnei growled, struggling to force the bike into a higher gear while evading the hundreds of thousands of vehicles materializing out of nowhere, pedestrians darting through traffic like some sort of arcade game.

"Try harder!"

"You try harder!" A loud thump made the bike shudder, a white coat flying into the air with the cry of angry rage from the scientist shaking his fist at the auburn haired female Turk.

"What was that we hit?" she asked, worry in her eyes, and considering turning back to help as the man in the lab coat twitched angrily on the ground by the splintered remnants of a crate labeled 'Highly super intelligent evil geniuses only'.

"Probably Hojo's latest shipment of organic onions." Rude explained. "We've done the world a favor just now. They're headed for the freeway!"

"I'm on it!"

The bike roared through the parting of the cars, gaining on the pickup truck barreling down LOVELESS and Eighth. This time the mailman would not humiliate them. He couldn't win this time. Their very existence was at stake. Both Turks nodded in grim seriousness towards the situation, Cissnei's eyes catching the sight of something in the tiny rearview mirror to her left.

"Rude," she grit her teeth and struggled to convince the bike to go faster nervously.

"What?"

"You're life insurance is paid up, right?"

"Sure, why?"

His eyes widened as she pointed behind her without so much as a second look, foot reaching for the brake as the vibrant black and white van charged into the fray, its brilliant lights flickering hypnotically with the holographic image of a dairy cow munching pleasantly upon a bale of hay on its roof. The mail truck flashed its lights in response, the man behind the wheel giving the man in the van a thumbs up sign as the second menace wove past the bike and cut them off, a wave of ice cubes and frozen substance coating the street.

"What is that stuff?" Rude inquired, feeling the younger Turk tense and grasp the handles of the bike with raw terror.

"Lactose!"

The bike's tires screeched as they struck the slick liquid, the youngest Turk struggling to wrestle the vehicle out of range of people as they slid, sideways across three lanes of traffic.

"We're gonna die!"

There was a horrific hurricane force explosion as both Turks closed their eyes at the impact of aluminum against wood the sinister echo of tingling bells from the froze treat peddling van taunting them in challenge.

**Some time later…**

Cissnei flinched at the death grip upon her shoulder from the pale bald Turk taking a trembling step back onto the sidewalk, his blazer covered in freshly sliced tomato blood. She picked a piece of raining lettuce from her hair, brushing the crumbs of taco shells from her sleeves and trying to pick the speared onions from Rekka's points while the owner of the taco stand shouted violent threats at them from behind a dusting of shredded cheese.

Both watched as the Shinra Postal Truck and Udderly Magic Ice dairy foods trucks screeched onto the freeway, leaving both Turks to collect their dignity from the pile of tacos raining around them.

Cissnei glared and handed the bald Turk her PHS. "You can call Tseng this time."

**--**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Something spooky is going on at Shinra Headquarters…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	40. Mission 40 Operation Candy Corn

**Sorry this is a little late folks (okay, so late is an understatement). I really did try to get it finished in time for Halloween, but oh well, ya know how that goes. A day late never hurt anyone right? Well, Reno doesn't count. Anywho, I hope ya all enjoy the latest mission and remember to let me know what ya think. (That is if anyone is still reading this fic anymore…)**

**On a side note: I'm going to be doing some minor revisions to previous missions, so if I accidentally flood your mailboxes, I apologize in advance. (And yes, the mission number is correct. I'm going to include special missions as a part of the mission count from now on which is part of the fixing up of this fic. It will also be on Haitus for a while, but I hope to get back on it soon.) **

**Mission Forty - Operation Candy Corn**

It was a once a year occurrence at the Shinra Corporate Headquarters that made everyone from the lowliest infantryman to the highest ranking executive Directors on the pay scale brim with excitement, become tipsy on cider, and develop a rather odd taste for apples and candy corn that they would later abandon in favor of stale candy and leftover cupcakes with spooky little spider sprinkles all over them and week old hunter orange frosting.

For the Department of Administrative Research, it was like the gunshot being fired at the start of a no rules, all's fair in love, war, and possibly murder race of a lifetime.

Reeve Tuesti secured the door to his office with a shudder at the tremors rattling his cup of cider and looked towards the AVALANCHE operative listening with great interest. It was all they really could do until the once a year event deemed Apocalypse had come to pass.

**Tseng's office…**

Tseng blinked at the haphazard appearance of the four winded Turks pushing and shoving to crowd through the door, ripped and torn pages of what appeared to be invoice forms in various levels of completion in hand. He shuddered. They were beyond desperate this year.

A flash of red caught his attention from somewhere at the back of the pack, making him wonder if by chance, the lack of caffeine was really starting to skew his view on reality.

"How did you-"

Reno jabbed the EMR into the fray, Rude collapsing to the ground with a hulkish shout of stunned rage.

"Fell through a plot hole yo. Ah damn it!"

Cissnei and Vincent skirted past with shouts of victory, forms striking the desk at almost the exact same time. For a moment, both Turks exchanged vicious glances, hands reaching for weapons to fend the other off in a show of superiority and beyond desperate instinct of survival. Tseng held his hands up in surrender, slowly backing away.

"Alright alright. Calm down you two. I'm sure we can settle this-"

"Back off vampire boy. This vacation day is mine."

"No way on Gaia Moomba girl."

"That's it!" The lead Turk slammed his hands down upon the desk in frustration. He was not in the mood to handle this today. "No one is getting vacation time this year!"

Four glares of seething rage met his, making him wonder if he might have said something even his own steel-willed confidence could not handle.

"What did you say?"

Tseng rubbed his forehead at the squabbling 'children' clustered around his desk, papers in hand, signed, sealed and ready for submission.

"There shall be no vacation time taken to escape from this hell we all have to suffer through. End of story."

"But-" Reno began.

"No discussions, complaints, threats, insults, nor darts against company personnel photos." The lead Turk studied his subordinates, a funny feeling that if he even tried to step away from the desk to do his trademark pacing, he was going to be attending the Halloween party as the crippled casualty of the Wutai War. That, or a giant pumpkin, frog, or imp. He really didn't wish to try his luck at the Turk lottery today, especially with two seething mad Turks not known for their mercy when pushed beyond irritated. "You only have to stay for an hour. Promise."

"Like last year?" Cissnei crossed her hands across her chest with a scowl, once again plotting how she possibly could flee the country before seven and get away with the murder she had yet to commit. Reno nodded with equal distaste at the memory. Tseng rubbed his forehead with a sigh.

"I didn't realize that a convention of Harry Potter fans was residing in the hotel above the ballroom. I believe I have apologized numerous times already for that."

"Ahem," Vincent tapped his foot, crimson eyes narrowed in distaste.

"Alright. I promise you there are no Twilight conventions going on this time either. I still don't know why you were targeted by overly sugar fueled fan girls of the literary variety, but I promise it will not happen again. This time the area is a secure place where no one can hurt you."

The three Turks exchanged glances, unconvinced. After several seconds, they appeared to reach some sort of silent agreement.

"We want it in writing this time," Cissnei commanded.

"Writing? For Holy's sake it is a Halloween party!"

Reno flicked the EMR on with a casual shrug.

"Well, I do suppose we could retrieve those incriminating files of you at last year's party dressed as a turnip. Cissnei."

The youngest Turk swung the lanyard containing the flash drive threateningly with an impish smirk.

"You wouldn't dare."

"We also have the footage of the Christmas Nut Buster play with you, Palmer, and Heidegger as sugar plum fairies."

Tseng sat down and leaned a hand against his chin in defeat.

"I'm being blackmailed by my own Turks…"

**Shinra Halloween Party, 8:00 pm.**

It began as a peaceful event, like all things usually do at the Costa Del Sol Presidential Villa.

Cobwebs adorned the balcony rafters with tiny orange and purple blinking lights wrapped around the columns of the patio to add an ambience of spooky atmosphere to the otherwise bland building. Cheap plastic Wall Market skeletons dangled from thin threads amidst the fake layer of fog rolling across the dance floor, about a spooky as a pair of sock puppets to the four Turks and their leader gathered around the punchbowl, each counting the seconds ticking by on the overly embellished clock with the tiny spider stickers clinging to its face to obscure most of the numbers.

"This sucks yo. Where's all of the blood? The babes?" Reno tugged upon his cape and tried to adjust his crimson vest to appear more vampirish. "You know, Halloween stuff."

"Welcome to the Shinra budgeting committee, aka, Weapons Research." Cissnei scowled and watched the overly embellished Cleopatra strut across the dance floor in search of the fleeing trio of what appeared to be Musketeers and one raven-haired cowboy trying to flee into the fog with a blond haired golden retriever padding along behind them.

"Be thankful we only have forty minutes left of this." Rude checked his watch again past the furry gray sleeve of his mouse costume and sipped his punch.

"Knock it off. It could be a lot of fun if you wanted it to be." Tseng gathered a handful of pretzels and pretended not to mind the stares he was receiving for his lab coat and fake glasses.

"Sir," Cissnei sighed. "I believe filing all of our failed mission paperwork and stamping them with pumpkin stamps would be more fun than this. We have missions we're supposed to be on right now."

"They can wait. Right now try not to be such a grumpy mummy."

She crossed her arms with a grumbling scowl. It wasn't her fault all of the good costumes had been seized in advance, leaving her with the choice of being a mummy or pretty purple unicorn with sparkly mane and matching butterfly tiara. At least she wasn't as unfortunate as the bald man standing beside her with equal distaste for the gray mouse costume he'd managed to acquire.

"Yo, guys. Where's Vincent?" Reno inquired, winking at one of the secretaries stepping by with a playful smile. Tseng raised an eyebrow, having not even noticed the stoic Turk's absence.

"He went to the bathroom a while ago." Rude replied, keeping an eye on a suspicious mousetrap stalking in the shadows.

"Reno," Tseng sighed. "Go get him. If we have to suffer through this hell. He has to as well."

"Didn't you just say-"

"I did not ask for the mummy's opinion. Go curse something."

"Why do I have to go?" the red haired menace whined. Tseng adjusted his spectacles.

"Because tonight, I'm the evil genius and I say so. Now go."

**Bathroom…**

Reno swore venomously and stepped into the bathroom with a dejected growl.

"Lousy stupid Halloween party. Vampire boy. You in here?"

A mumbled gesture of agreement appeared from the far left stall, prompting the red haired Turk to investigate further. The sooner he got this over with the better. There was after all, only twenty something minutes of this left to endure. Vincent could handle that much torment.

"Fearless leader psycho megalomaniac sent me to fetch you. He knows your hiding in here. Might as well salvage your dignity while you can bud."

"I'm not coming out. Ever."

"Ah come on." Reno leaned a hand against the stall door. "It can't be that bad. At least you're not dressed like a giant rodent, or Luke Skywalker like our resident engineer."

"I'm still not coming out."

There was a rustling from the handicapped stall, a deep voice responding with enough force to startle the Turk.

"It's okay Valentine. Every subject of Hojo's goes through this sort of thing. They won't laugh, much. The humiliation fades after ten years."

"Stop stalking me you silver haired creep!"

"I'm not stalking you Valentine. Merely sharing in the salvage of dignity that comes with being a member of SOLDIER. Unlike the Turks, we have dignity to defend. That, and Hojo's lurking about dressed as a flyswatter. You do the math."

Reno listened to the rustle of anger from the stall where Vincent lurked, half expecting to be attacked for the silver haired general's remark about their department.

"That's it!" The door flew open, knocking Reno into the sink.

For a moment, both Turks regarded one another with interest, one trying hard not to laugh and the other trying not to draw the Death Penalty to shoot the first.

"Dude, when you said your costume sucked, I didn't think you meant like this." He began laughing hysterically and bolted for the door as the first bullet shattered the mirror in retaliation.

"It was the best I could do!"

**Back in the patio…**

A blood curdling scream pierced the air, sending a shiver of surprise through everyone within earshot.

"Turks!" The feminine voice shouted with pleading panic. "Where are the Turks!"

Tseng raised an eyebrow and reached for his pistol, watching is two subordinates mimic the motion, strangely alert. Something was terribly wrong.

A poor rendition of Luke Skywalker appeared from around the corner, winded from running the entire length of the corridors of the mansion.

"Tseng. Thank holy. Something has happened. In the parlor room! It's the president!"

"Oh god. Now what happened. Did someone steal his lava lamp again?"

"No! It's much worse!"

The Wutainese man scowled. Worse? Had someone managed to actually kill the man. He checked the ammunition of the weapon once again and began following the engineer through the throngs of alarmed employees. At least it was somewhat more exciting than it was.

Behind him trotted the pair of equally interested Turks, curious as to what might have occurred with their leader.

"Someone better be dying with an axe buried in the back of their skull."

Three minutes later, Tseng stood poised in the doorway, pistol drawn and flanked by his subordinates, ready to take on the threat who had harmed the disco dancing man they were supposed to be protecting.

"Sir?"

He made a mental note to turn everything over to his subordinates first thing in the morning for this.

"It was horrible!" The blubbering blond haired man buried his head into Tseng's shoulder, weeping hysterically.

"What happened? Who's dying?"

Palmer stepped out from behind a dresser, his overweight sumo costume covered in silly string and confetti, a trembling dragon following with what appeared to be Heidegger hiding somewhere within it.

"They came out of the shadows! Ninjas!"

The Turks exchanged looks of disbelief, Tseng's eyes falling upon Cissnei.

"Why does everyone look at me like that when ninjas are involved?"

"Because you're the most experienced with them."

"Sir. My knowledge of ninjas is limited at best. What exactly type of ninjas attacked you?"

Lazard cowered beneath his yellow raincoat, pointing to the overturned candy dish in the corner.

"The Ninja type of ninjas! They stole the candy corn! We can't have a party without candy corn! You have to do something! We stole that candy fair and square from the neighborhood children!"

"Reappropriated resources." Tseng sighed. "Stealing makes you sound like a bunch of criminals. We have a reputation to uphold for the election gentlemen."

This had to be one of the most humiliating assignments of his career to date.

"There!" The youngest Turk pointed to the fleeing nanny goat and dairy cow clutching a sack of what appeared to be the stolen candy when they reemerged into the patio minutes later.

"Stop those livestock!" Tseng commanded, firing a shot into the air and bolting across the floor.

From the bathroom entrance, Reno watched the spectacle with mild amusement, EMR pointed at the mosquito cowering from the zapping sound. With a whoop of excitement, he bolted after the menaces and his comrades to join the chase.

"Reno!" Cissnei shouted in panic as her red haired counterpart stepped upon a loose mummy bandage, restricting her flight down the stairs with an abrupt halt. He flinched as she tumbled forward and crashed against the fluffy Rude, who shouted in panic and reached for the startled wings of the mosquito trying to apprehend the menaces fleeing for the street.

Tseng cried out in pain as the stairs rushed up to greet him, his lab coat billowing about him with the collision of bodies driving him into the cement in a crumbled heap.

The two Turks landed at the base of the steps, seething over the pair of escaping dairy animals making off with the candy corn in a white van with the Udderly Magic logo along the side.

Vincent whimpered, fairly certain he had broken his arm in the fiasco. A sharp jab of an elbow caught him in the ribs as Tseng attempted to regain his footing, only to find a pair of fire truck red heels in his view.

"Oh hell." Reno helped Cissnei to her feet and hugged her in panic at the blond haired menace standing before their leader and resident vampire, camera in hand.

"I think I might be able to help you with this little problem of yours."

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions, **

**Behold, the return of an old nemesis and a brand new one….**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	41. Mission 41 Operation Make A Copy

**Hi there folks! Yes, the Muse is still alive, barely, but she's still around and cannot resist the upcoming holidays. You know what that means, the possibility of updates! Ahem, enjoy this quick, albeit rather lazy one folks, and hopefully, you'll get a few more before the big Thanksgiving Mission. Mwahahahaha. You may start feeling bad for Vincent now if you wish…(runs from rabid Vincent fans). Enjoy folks.**

**Mission Forty One - Operation Make A Copy**

He was a man not on a mission this morning.

"Are you sure about this Tseng?" Reeve balanced the stack of folders in one arm and a cup of tea in the other. "I mean, you did almost get decapitated by a packet of note cards when you walked through the door, and that was before you even got the chance to say good morning."

The elder Turk sipped his coffee and glanced down the list of daily duties typed in neat black print across the few sheets of paper stuck to the clipboard and back to the engineer that had wandered into his office so early in the morning.

"They'll be fine. These missions are made for my troubled underlings. We're in a rough patch right now and they're stressed. That's all."

"Rough spot?" Reeve raised an eyebrow at the calmness behind his friend's words. "They were throwing darts at a crude picture of you over lunch and the red head had what appeared to be a voodoo doll. Shouldn't you consider addressing the problem directly, you know, before they hurt themselves again."

Tseng sat down at his desk with a sinister smirk that unnerved the engineer slightly. The last time a Turk had smiled like that…well, he couldn't quite recall a Turk ever smiling like Tseng was at this moment. And something told him that it could not be good for the company.

"Sir, have you been drinking? I mean, drinking something other than decaffeinated generic brand coffee?"

"Trust me Reeve. My miserable peons will enjoy these missions. They're virtually fail-proof."

Reeve set the papers aside with a sigh.

"These are Turks Tseng. There is no such thing as a 'fail-proof' mission."

"I'm sure they'll be fine." The elder Turk leaned back in his chair almost casually. "I've chosen missions that suit them. I'd almost be surprised if they screwed something so simple up."

Reeve sighed, not even daring to allow himself to think what should have been on his mind at the comment.

**Copy room, 62****nd**** floor, 9:30 A.M.**

It was humiliating to say the least. The great Vincent Grimoire Valentine sentenced to a mission so simple that it insulted his very existence as a Turk. He was supposed to be a sharpshooting, enigmatic, emo-defined man of mystery for Holy's sake. The heartthrob of fan girls everywhere. But this, now this was just insulting, not to mention undermining of his superiority of the Turks he worked with.

"Vincent," the bald Turk took a step in reverse, almost nervously. "I don't suppose you remembered to ask Cissnei for that hex charm she only keeps around for this particular room? The shaman made it especially for this enemy. Please tell me you did not let it behind…""

The Turk-turned-secretary grit his teeth and stormed past his bald companion, folder in hand, towards the miserable piece of plastic and metal poised against the far wall in a halo of light. Tseng was going to pay for this.

"It's a copy machine." He sauntered up to it and thumped his fist against its side. "Metal. It cannot hurt us. It is not possessed. Just watch."

Rude again took another step in reverse, wishing he had some holy water on him or something. His Turk senses were telling him that this was a bad idea from the start, and the lesser Vincent Valentine knew not what he was getting into. He momentarily considered reaching for his PHS to call for backup in advance, but thought better of it at the last moment.

Vincent clutched the paper with an irritated scowl at the lack of confidence amongst the department he was quickly beginning to regret working for and eyed the lifeless panel in front of him, placing the piece of paper face down and closing the lid.

And he pressed the green button.

Nothing happened.

"See, what did I tell ya." The Stoic Turk raised an eyebrow and kicked the machine in frustration. "The red head doesn't know what she's talking about half of the time. Miserable piece of metal is broken and about as possessed as my-"

It began as a dull whirring sound and rapidly droned into a shriek of life, a flicker of light seeping forth from the inner workings of the copy bulb and spreading outward. Vincent blinked and watched the normal functions of a rather normal copy machine taking place, a piece of perfectly copied paper landing in the tray.

Vincent smirked and retrieved the piece of paper with a confident shrug, glancing over it. Several seconds later, that same confidence turned a slight shade paler, another piece of paper falling into the tray.

"What in the hell? I'm being threatened by a copier?"

"I knew you should have asked her for the hex charm!"

The bald Turk was already running, leaving the stoic one holding the rather threatening piece of paper in his hands, dumbfounded.

The copy machine exploded in light, the panel ablaze with violent flashes and ferocious beeping sounds as each key began pressing in on itself to mimic the theme from Psycho about the dreary room.

"Kill it!" Rude screamed, holding his fists up to defend himself against the onslaught of papers being fired towards them. "We don't have an immortality code to protect ourselves against its wrath! Not even Sephiroth can defeat it!"

Vincent loaded the Death Penalty in panic and reached for a Bolt Materia, noticing the array of damage to the front of the copier the closer it began rumbling towards them. No doubt, they were not the first to challenge it and lose. The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off of it and took out a file cabinet in a flash of light.

"It won't die! Let's get out of here Rude!"

"The door's locked!" Rude shouted in panic, struggling to pry the latch open in vain, uncertain of what force could have locked it in those brief few seconds. Vincent fired another round at the copy machine with a curse. They were about to be KO'd by another piece of office machinery and years of inappropriate office Christmas parties were about to be avenged by the one machine known to be man's downfall.

"I hate you. I really do." The stoic Turk lunged for the door, something striking him from behind and grasping his tie, drawing him towards the flashing light. Since when did copy machines have teeth all of a sudden. "I'm not ready to go towards the light yet! Not today!"

Death Penalty fired round after round into the machine, only to infuriate it further. Rude's screaming did not help the situation any.

Vincent staggered against the wall with a flinch of pain, and watched the copy machine devour his only decent tie with a sense of malicious greed. He could only hope that his other two comrades were having a better day than they were at the moment.

**------**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Tseng's 'specialized' missions, part two…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	42. Mission 42 Operation Certified Mail

**Yes folks, the Muse is actually updating again! Yea! Anyway, I hope ya'll don't find the dialogue heavy scenes in this chapter annoying and find them amusing at least. Now I'm off to torment Tseng next. Enjoy folks! **

**Mission Forty Two - Operation Certified Mail**

The only redeeming quality of the corner side café was the complimentary butter crescent one received when they ordered a cup of rather bland holiday spice mocha latte with whipped cream and cinnamon stick for added flavor. Cissnei flinched at the uncomfortable steel chair and studied the contents of the laptop screen in front of her, tapping an impatient finger against the chill surface of the table in hopes of the website loading even marginally faster than half drunken snail. And the only wireless access point in all of Midgar's northern sectors, she reminded herself. It was the reason she was sitting out in the cold on such a blustery day to begin with.

"Whatcha doing now yo?" Reno draped an arm over her shoulder and narrowly avoided an elbow to the ribs.

"My job," she swore and scrolled down through the pale coding filling the screen. "That is if this damn connection isn't lost again."

"Looks more like solitaire to me."

"Go to Hades Reno. This is serious stuff that your brain wouldn't comprehend without exploding into a mushier pile of goo than it already is."

"I'm very proud of that puddle of goo thank you very much. Hey what are you-"

Reno struggled to escape the younger Turk's grasp as she pinned something to his tie and peered back at the computer screen with a scowl.

"Stand still for three seconds would ya? I'm trying to figure something out."

The red haired menace glanced down at his tie with a raised eyebrow. It appeared to be a tiny envelop pin of some sort, no more odd than the usual tie clip style Tseng often wore to dignified meetings when it was required. What worried him was the reason as to why someone like Cissnei would be so determined to ensure he was the one wearing it at the moment.

"I take that solitaire comment back," he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I really do think that stuff looks complicated. I mean-"

"Stop trying to earn brownie points with me solitaire boy." She clicked something upon the keyboard and a mild jolt of electricity sent Reno jumping into the air with a yelp.

"Holy! What the hell was that for?"

"Just making sure it works."

"I don't want to know what goes on in that twisted little mind of yours, but if shock collars are your thing-"

The sound of a hand striking one very miserable male Turk filled the café's patio, several college students glancing over in mild amusement. Reno rubbed the side of his face with a wince.

"Feisty. Alright, so does this thing go up in voltage or what? You know I like the 10,000 range."

Cissnei's eyebrow twitched as she pointed to the whitewashed building with the overly happy little eagle carrying a postal bag over his shoulder and waving an envelope across the street.

"It's a tracking/bug/spy device you moron. Tseng sent us to gather information on our foe and that is what you're going to do."

"Me? Why can't it be you?"

"Because you can't even work a microwave let alone a sensitive piece of equipment such as a computer. That's why." She shoved him in the direction of the post office. Reno balked with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Says the lady who argues with the toaster each morning."

"Just shut up and go." The younger Turk handed him a piece of paper, watching his lip quiver as he read over the orders. Several seconds later he was sprawled across the table in laughter.

"You're kidding right? This is too good to be true."

"Be serious Reno," she scowled and typed in more codes. "Tseng's relying on this mission to save him from total humiliation."

"A little late for that."

"Relax, I won't let anything bad happen to you. You'll be fine. Just do exactly as I tell you to."

"So, you're going with me then? Doesn't this seem like a waste of time…"

"I'm not going with you," she grumbled. "I will however, be supervising and making sure you don't screw up. You can hear me, but they can't."

"Are you a witch with mind reading powers, because that would be kinda creepy."

She sighed and handed him a tiny microphone that hooked behind his ear, unnoticeable to anyone who was not a Turk on a mission.

"Oh, right." He turned the piece of metal over in his palm. "Got ya. Still, mind reading powers would be cool. Think about it and get back to me."

And Cissnei watched her enthusiastic comrade vanish into traffic to begin their mission.

**In the post office…Minutes later.**

Reno Sinclair considered himself to be a rather courageous man of greater than average skill and wit - at least in his little world anyway. But some missions just were not made for him and scared the crap out of even the most sensibly sane, if there were any, Turks that made up Tseng's lackluster group of lackies.

This was one such mission.

Mark his words, if he survived this, the short one would pay dearly for such humiliation.

"Name please."

The red haired Turk grit his teeth and drummed his fingers against the smooth surface of the polished countertop in an effort to prevent himself from storming out of the small lobby. Those stamps were staring at him. He could see it with every pass over the SOLDIERs' mako enhanced eyes. And Sephiroth's smirk was just creeping him out.

"It's under Tseng. You know, the guy who's in charge of the Department of-of-" He mentally swore at drawing a proverbial blank.

"_Administrative Research." _Cissnei finished with exasperation somewhere in the static.

"Research. _Right_. The Department of Administrative Research. So," he held up the small piece of manila paper for the postal lady to read. "You got a letter for our fearless leader or what yo?"

The woman behind the postal counter shook her dark curls and tapped the keyboard absently.

"Nope. No Tseng registered here. We have a Song and a Sing, but no Tseng."

"_Tell her it's spelled with a T." _The frustrated voice echoed over the static of the earpiece, prompting a groan of annoyance from the 'spy'.

"Alright, alright you rabid banshee. Did you try spelling it with a T?"

"_What did you call me!"_

Everyone in the post office looked towards the Turk who had made the comment.

"Sir, with all due respect, Sung is not spelled with a T. Have you even been to kindergarten?"

"More times than what should be considered humane," he scowled. "It's not Sung, it's Tseng, with a T. Now I believe you have a letter for him which I have to pick up before he goes all Wutainsese Ninja on my ass yo. Hurry it up would ya."

Again, the receptionist shook her head and typed away on the keyboard, the files flashing across the surface of her glasses.

"Ninjas, ninjas….Kisaragi?"

"Try again toots."

"You're very rude for a Turk, you know that?"

"Rude's bald. I'm Reno."

"Right, so you're one of those people. Alright. Let me see what I can do." She put the information upon the paper into the computer. "Ah yes, Mr. Sinclair I presume. I do have a letter for your miserable excuse for a figurehead boss, but you'll need to sign for it."

"Finally!" He reached for the pen and froze at the letter presented in front of him. "Wait a second-"

"_Don't sign it Reno!"_

The pen lingered upon the surface of the paper, but did not emit any ink where the signature should have been. He scanned over the lettering with scrutinizing eyes.

"Hey, wait a second. This requires a password of some sorts, A cAsEsEnSiTiVe sort of password. With letters and numbers and stuff."

Reno blinked. Password? What kind of man passwords his mail? Then again, this was Tseng they were talking about. One could only imagine the reason why.

"_Reno_," Cissnei's voice echoed through the static once again, a little bit worried. "_I need a few seconds to get the password. What you say next to her could be the difference between life and death_."

"Is something the matter sir?" The postal clerk inquired startling the Turk.

"Oh yeah."

"_Say something intelligent Reno. I'm almost finished."_

He racked his brain for something to say.

"Yeah toots," he leaned an elbow across the counter. "I like stamps."

Across the street he could have sworn he saw his comrade rest her forehead against the table and fold the laptop shut in horrific defeat.

"Excuse me?"

"_Songbird."_

"What?"

"Stamps Sir. You were talking about stamps."

"What do songbirds have to do with stamps?"

"_Password. Songbird."_

"We don't have stamps with songbirds on them."

Reno slammed his palms against the surface of the counter with a growl of annoyance.

"Look lady. Just give me the miserable piece of mail and let me be on my way yo."

The woman's eyes narrowed with the fires of Ifrit, her lime green fingernails snapping the pen in half and nearly splitting the keyboard.

"And just why isn't your good for nothing boss here picking it up then?"

"Because he's a Postalphobe lady!"

She threw the letter at him and nearly stabbed his hand with a letter opener as he wrote his signature down.

"You tell that good for nothing son of an imp that the next time he sends someone to pick up his mail, it had better be him or else I'm gonna personally ram this envelope opener where they aren't meant to go. Got that sugar?"

Reno blinked and sprinted from the post office with a silent nod of acknowledgement at having his superior officer threatened by the post office girl.

**------**

**On the next Episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Tseng gets some rather earth shaking news, literally.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	43. Special Operation Turkey Trot

**Hi there folks and welcome back for another episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions. Hope ya'll enjoy this special holiday episode and it makes ya'll smile at least. Have a happy and safe holiday. : ) **

**Special Operation Turkey Trot**

It was a well known fact, that if you gave a Turk a cookbook, she would begin by asking if you were in your right frame of mind. If you told her you were indeed in your right frame of mind, she would ask how much gil you bribed the therapist with to tell you that. If you told her it was cheaper than the cookbook, she would call you an idiot and storm off to find a place to sit down to study said book. If you gave the Turk a place to sit down and read it, she would ask for the local poison control center to be programmed on speed-dial. If you programmed the number into the phone at her request, she would inquire about a fire extinguisher.

And if you gave a Turk a fire extinguisher, there was a very good chance your kitchen was not going to survive the minutes that followed.

"Are you alright in there?"

Tseng looked up from the paperback novel with a flinch at the crash of stainless steel pots and pans hitting the linoleum and the echo of swear words that followed.

"Just peachy-"

The hiss of a fire extinguisher being employed reached the living room with the billowing smoke rolling along the whitewashed ceiling. The elder Turk raised an eyebrow. Where there was smoke, there was usually a red head low on hit points at the center. He set the novel aside and moved to investigate, almost afraid of what he might find.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Rude warned and propped his feet up on the coffee table to continue flipping through the channels in valiant search of the Midgar Zolom match up against the Junon Jaguars. So far, nothing.

"As current reigning Turk in charge, it is my duty to ensure the safety of whatever remains of my subordinates. That, and I don't want to call the fire company again. They start the process for a restraining order after the third call-"

"Look out!"

There was a violent explosion that shook the windows, Plexiglas shattering with the fiery projectile that shot forth from the flame filled culinary wonder known as the oven. Tseng reached for his pistol in surprise and ducked behind the couch with his not-so-awesome Turk reflexes.

**Earlier that same day…Tseng's office, 9:03 A.M.**

There were several levels of emotion a Turk was required to develop of the years. The first level which involved an infallible sense of coolness for any situation, regardless of the level of crisis it could spiral into. He had spent years working on such a level, erecting a nearly impenetrable sense of sensibility.

But as he stood before the four Turks and one engineer lined up in front of his desk, Tseng's hand did something it rarely - if ever - did. As he read over the certified letter with dark obsidian hazel eyes, a mixture of mild surprise flicked across them. That surprise quickly evaporated in favor of what appeared to be a sense of dread, his skin fading several shades paler. And for the first time since they could remember, his hands trembled.

"Something the matter boss?" Reno inquired, uncertain if it was the letter causing the Turk's distress, or the fact that Vincent's blazer was shredded and his tie missing, a wild eyed sense of uncontrollable horror in his crimson eyes as he continued to rock back and forth mumbling about cursed copiers.

Tseng folded the letter up, but did not put it down. Instead, he cleared his throat and drew a shaky breath.

"Cissnei," he commanded. "In the top drawer of the file cabinet of Reeve's office, there is a book. I expect you to study and know it like the code of honor for our department."

"We don't have a code of honor for our department," she replied. Tseng's eyes narrowed.

"Just get the damn book."

She grumbled and went to retrieve the book, leaving her male companions at the mercy of Tseng.

"For the rest of you-" he began writing something on a piece of paper and handed it to Rude. "You are to retrieve the following ingredients and bring them to my apartment by tonight."

The bald Turk raised an eyebrow.

A door slammed with the hurried footsteps crossing the hall.

"You're kidding right?" The youngest Turk slammed the bright yellow book down against the surface of the desk with a look of terror. "On your list of missions that were bad ideas, this one is the worst."

**The Whine and Dyne Grocery Outlet, 12:10 P.M. Aisle 15...**

Vincent held the list with a scrutinizing glare and stared at the ten choices of gravy situated across five different levels of shelf.

"Remind me again why we are doing this again?"

Rude grunted and selected a jar of gravy to place in the cart along with the other ingredients labeled as 'urgently' required.

"Because the Fates hate us and hate Tseng even more."

He retrieved the list and check several items off. Who knew grocery shopping could be such a hassle.

They turned the corner and nearly crashed into a table with a young woman standing behind it.

"Would you like to try a sample of our latest holiday egg nog?" She offered the stoic Turk a tiny plastic cup of the milky liquid. Vincent smiled and accepted it.

"Thanks. Hey, would you happen to know where we can find a turkey?"

She smiled and pointed to the furthest aisle.

**Tseng's kitchen, 12:15 P.M.**

The mixing bowl hated her.

Cissnei sighed and watched the electric mixer manage to throw potatoes across the wall with a defiant buzz.

"Trouble already?"

"You have no idea," she glanced at her red haired comrade and jumped in surprise. "Reno! Get him out of here!"

Reno smirked and held the cage up close enough to the wall for the tiny rodent to sniff the vegetable's remains.

"He's here to supervise. Thought you might need some help."

"Reno," she placed both hands upon her hips and scowled. "Get that guinea pig out of here before he makes everyone sick. You know animals aren't supposed to be in the kitchen."

"Says?"

She pointed to the cookbook.

"The author of this anyone can cook cookbook. Now get him out of here."

"I saw this movie once where a rat helped cook. Thought maybe a smart guinea pig could help."

"That was a movie you idiot. That guinea pig was flushed down a toilet and strapped to a firecracker."

"He's a smart little piggy," Reno smirked as Sir Squeaksalot squealed and pressed his nose against the bars of the cage to look super cute. Cissnei sighed.

"Fine. He can stay. But keep him out of the kitchen so he doesn't get hurt."

Reno skipped out of the room with a whoop of excitement.

She picked up her PHS in defeat and dialed a number.

**The Whine and Dyne Grocery Outlet, 12:30 P.M. Aisle 15...**

The old man was beyond his capabilities of combat.

Rude flinched and pried a pineapple out of his shoulder, watching as Vincent struggled to keep hold of the frozen bird and not suffer another embarrassing knock out.

"We need this turkey!" He managed to pry it a little further out of the man's hands. A cane struck the back of his knee as reinforcements filed in. The stoic Turk paled, noticing the group of ten older men of varying grayness tapping their wooden duck handle carved canes in warning.

"Young whippersnappers always trying to tell us what to do. Not this time laddie!"

Vincent yelped in pain as another cane struck him, making him drop the turkey in defeat. Some enemies were just not worth dying over.

Rude cast him a look of defeat as he limped over to his comrade and shook his head. It was hopeless.

The click of boots over linoleum filled the air with the swish of a trench coat, halting by the fallen Turks.

"Trouble Valentine? Baldy?"

The stoic Turk flinched at the deep voice of the silver haired general gloating over finding him in such a weakened state. Not that it should have surprised him. SOLDIER always had the tendency to show up at the wrong time. This was such a time.

"Go to hell Sephiroth," he spat and tried to see if any other turkeys were available, finding nothing. "We can handle this."

"Meh, I'm feeling rather generous today. Allow the master to assist you in your quest then." Sephiroth smirked and stepped confidently over to the gaggle of old men clustered defensively around the turkey. "Excuse me gentlemen. I cannot help but notice that you have a turkey. You see, my poor ailing mother is dying and this is her last Thanksgiving. I would like to ask if you would consider helping me out."

"Lordy woman, anything to help a lady of your grace and age out. You mother must be rather ancient and wise to have such a budding daughter who's aged well."

"You have no idea," the general smirked, his eyebrow twitching at being identified as old and female.

Rude and Vincent exchanged glances, not believing their ears. The elderly men raised their eyebrows and whistled casually.

And then, something happened that Rude was fairly certain would never happen every again in the history of Shinra.

The old men handed over the turkey to the silver haired general, along with several pieces of folded paper.

Sephiroth feigned a smile and stalked back over to the Turks in question, waiting for the older men to shuffle off in search of egg nog.

"Alright Valentine. You owe me for this."

**Tseng's living room (present time)…1:52 P.M.**

The elder Turk peered out from behind the couch amidst the layer of smoke coating the living room, staring at the broken window with a sense of mock horror.

"Cissnei?"

The trembling female Turk in question crawled out from the remnants of the kitchen, using a saucepan as a helmet and a wooden spoon as a sword.

"Can I ask exactly what inspired you to insist on me of all people even attempting to cook a turkey for this mission?"

"I have my reasons," he replied and tossed her a potion. "Now back in the kitchen before they get here."

The female Turk glared and brushed some flour from her blazer.

"Look, Tseng, no ill will meant, but if Palmer's copy of _The Midgarian Minutes to Miracles Chef's Anyone Can Cook Remedial Cook Book for Hopeless Beginners_ cannot help me, no one can. Face it. Apparently, not just _anyone_ can cook. Perhaps Reeve would be a better choice?"

"Did you follow the instructions as it said? The pictures?"

"Yes, I did. But the culinary gods had other plans-" She pointed to the window.

The elder Turk continued to stare at the broken window, the wheels in his mind turning.

"Actually," Reno smirked and exchanged a look with the female Turk. "I think we can fix this. Give us a couple of hours."

**Thanksgiving Dinner, 8:00 P.M. Location - Tseng's makeshift dining room.**

The leader of the Turks had to give his minions credit - they had done the next to impossible on the spread before them all. Whipped mashed potatoes and golden corn. Elegant cranberry sauce and a bowl of steaming gravy. The good china, unbroken and in perfect order, with silverware and wine glasses set according to proper protocol for such a meal.

And in the center of the table, the most gorgeous golden bird he had ever seen on this side of Midgar, cooked to perfection and garnished to appear edible. He cast a look of surprise at the two red heads standing by the kitchen, aprons coated in flour and smirking innocently.

Maybe he did not really want to know, but he could have sworn he saw a rather secretive being peering out from behind the oven, munching on a roll.

"It looks fantastic Tseng. You've outdone yourself this year. And to think we'd be having takeout!"

"Well," Tseng blushed. "The Department of Administrative Research tries their best to keep their superiors happy. The holidays are no exception."

He gestured to the two chairs and watched both President Shinra and his son take their respectful seats.

The apple pie moved a half of an inch, a tiny wisp of fur visible. Cissnei raised an eyebrow in surprise and elbowed Reno, who smirked.

Vincent paled and adjusted his seat to reach for the gravy bowl while Rude tried in vain to secure the mashed potatoes.

Tseng dropped his fork in shock at the tiny wagging tail and whiskers.

"Um, Mr. President," he kicked the bald Turk's knee in silent signal. "What a fine suit that is."

"It's the same one I always wear."

Rude reached across the table for the pie as the elder Turk struggled to distract the president from the current crisis.

"Oh, a pie!" Rufus reached for the apple delicacy with glee. A spoon cracked across his knuckles.

"Yo," Reno clucked his tongue and pushed the pie closer to Cissnei, trying in vain to conceal the guinea pig wandering alongside it. "Can't have dessert until ya try the potatoes yo. Best part of the meal."

"Ack!" Rufus stood up, nearly upsetting the table. "A mouse!"

The 'mouse' as it was to be referred to, stood upon its haunches and twitched its whiskers with a squeak of pleasure. Tiny claws rested against the apple pie as it brown fur glimmered in the light.

And Tseng could have sworn he saw a glint of demonic mischief in the rodent's eyes as it turned and fled across the table in the guinea pig equivalent of a mooning.

Reno stood up with a whoop of excitement.

"Go Squeaky! Go!"

"Not funny Reno!" Cissnei struggled to grasp the guinea pig as it trotted across the table less than gracefully. "He's supposed to be in a cage!"

"Get it away!" President Shinra rose from his seat, the heel of his shoe catching upon his pant leg.

"Mr. President!" Tseng rushed to intercept the man as he fell.

Time slowed, the president shouting in surprise as he fell. His elbow clipped the edge of the table. China rattle as the tablecloth shifted, the entire front of the table sinking towards the ground with a defending crack.

Sir Squeaksalot leapt from the table into the outstretched palm of the female Turk.

And they watched as the second turkey of the day flew through the window and vanished from sight.

Reno parted the singed curtains.

"Oh yeah, its definitely dead now alright. And I think that poor hobo is too. Death by Thanksgiving gobbler. What a way to go."

**-----**

**On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Cissnei and Vincent have a _big_ problem…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	44. Mission 44 Operation Tree Trimmer

**Urgh. This chapter seemed to go on forever on the writing spectrum. Perhaps it was because the Muse is in a festive mood with actual spare time to write. Hopefully ya'll will enjoy some good old fashion holiday fun. Heh heh heh. Enjoy folks! **

**Mission Forty Four - Operation Tree Trimmer**

There was a certain level of tolerance to Tseng's sanity. But as he watched the last fragile slivers of what remained vanish with the roasted poultry that had flown through the window, he began to wonder - just what would life in the Turks be like if he somehow managed to go back and prevent himself from falling into the less than clever trap Veld had laid for unsuspecting, young, naïve, stupidly ambitious Turks such as himself for the fast track to Shinra hell.

He scribbled it across the top of his notepad at the top of his list of things to do. **First order of the day: Find a working time machine.**

"You wanted to see us sir?"

And he circled it thrice for extra emphasis.

"Sir, we can explain everything."

The younger Turk's stoic companion crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway with a glare. "I hope so. I'm still not sure just what in the hell I did in the first place. I wasn't even there long enough to do anything-"

"You're just as guilty as the rest of us."

"Both of you, shut up." Tseng rubbed his forehead to quell the headache already entrenched and ready to annoy. He was going to need more than a time machine to fix this problem. "I've got enough problems without your bickering."

He scowled. They were worse than a group of little kids sometimes - only without the hooves and horns that made such creatures adorable beyond belief. He retrieved the manila folder from the stack of ever growing papers and eyed the auburn-haired Turk. No, these 'kids' were not cute and fuzzy. The complete opposite actually.

Second order of the day, he wrote, Find cuter more adorable and intelligent minions.

Vincent placed his hands against the surface of the desk, teeth grit and fingers digging into the wood.

"Why isn't Reno taking the blame for the poultry related death of a hobo? He was there just as much as I was-"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up? And that wasn't a hobo. It was Hojo, which automatically makes you guilty."

"Me? Why in the-"

"Turk Code 286 - All Hojo related deaths, maimings, and experiments are the sole responsibility of the Turk currently involved with said mad psychotic nut job in charge and punishment is at the discretion of the current reign Turk leader."

"This is not fair. I didn't chose to be any of those things."

"Should have been nicer to Katana and Gun before they retired to become successful entrepreneurs and marry rich so that they can forever spend their time drinking martinis and sunbathing on the sunny shores of Costa Del Sol's private sector then."

"You told us they got lost in a snowstorm and never were found!"

"You've got bigger problems." He flicked the folder to the female Turk. "There are two missions in there for you. One which I assigned you. The other, well, I'll let you explain that one to Mr. Sinclaire as you see fit."

She paled and read over the orders, tucking the second one to the side before Vincent could see it. "Can I retire yet?"

"Not until you've outlived me."

Cissnei's eyebrow twitched as she handed the mission folder to Vincent, who immediately drew the Death Penalty and pointed it at their oh so fearless leader.

"Two o'clock sound good?"

The sound of a shuriken being drawn.

"Make it one forty five and we'll talk."

"Deal."

Tseng stood up and faced his two murder-plotting Turks.

"Both of you, knock it off this instant. Besides, you can't kill me right this second."

"Oh?" Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Reeve forgot to order more body bags."

An echo reached through the hallway from the office down the hall.

"They'll be here Tuesday! Good god man get a day planner to record this stuff in! I'm not your secretary!"

"Just get in the car you two. We haven't a moment to lose." He pulled his overcoat on and adjusted his tie. Cissnei tapped her foot against the ground with a sigh.

"Sir, we don't have a car. It's still parked at the Bead-A-Rama down on Ninth. No one could get the keys out of it."

Tseng paused, realizing his lowly underling had made an excellent point. How were they going to get to where it was they needed to be?

**Fifteen minutes later, Sector Seven, upper plate…**

"Sir. On the list of top ten things you've done that don't make sense and lead to potential opportunities for stupidity, this is ranked close to number one."

The yellow light flickered ominously to red as the bike slid to a halt.

"I promise this mission will be fun."

Vincent scoffed and struggled to keep from falling out of the sidecar.

"Fun? I just got struck in the forehead by a bug and that little kid in that sedan beside us is sticking his tongue out at me. Do define fun."

Tseng sighed at the lack of enthusiasm amongst his two minions.

"At least you'll have more fun than Reno and Rude."

"Why did you pick us for this mission again?"

"I needed a Turk with a woman's touch and someone without points on their license."

**An ominous building, in an 'undisclosed' location somewhere in Midgar, ten more minutes later…**

"Now remember." He halted in front of the door and faced his two Turks. "Not one word until I say you may speak."

He received two nods of agreement as he turned towards the door to knock. Several seconds later, a rather strange sight greeted them all.

"Oh thank Holy. I thought you would never get here Tseng!" President Shinra stood in a bathrobe with tiny pink rabbits embroidered along the sleeves. Tseng cringed as the rotund man placed a hand atop his shoulder and guided him into the luxurious corridor of what appeared to be an apartment turned mansion.

Vincent and Cissnei exchanged looks. How long had this place existed without their knowledge again?

President Shinra ignored their looks of surprise and waddled through the corridor towards a pair of rising stairwells in what appeared to be a majestic dining room large enough to house several families at the same time. When they reached the center, he halted and twiddled his thumbs absently.

"Quite the marvelous place you have here Sir. Very nice," Tseng replied, uncertain of whether or not it would be proper to call the undisclosed home of their commander in chief and his second in command lame and bland.

"Oh, you have to see the tree. I don't think our opponent will be able to top it! Perfect for gaining public support that we here at Shinra love Christmas!"

He drew back the curtain surrounding what he had in mind.

It was the most genius, most invigorating, more entertaining -

"It's a topiary?"

Christmas tree that not even Charlie Brown's could compete against and hope to look sad…

"Cissnei-" Tseng warned and tried to step on her toes to silence her.

"Just saying what I'm thinking Sir."

"Think quieter."

"Will do."

Tseng raised an eyebrow and glanced from younger Turk to said topiary. For the first time in his career, he noticed she was actually looking _down_ at it.

"Tseng, can I speak to you, privately for a few seconds?" Vincent inquired and glanced at the topiary. The leader of the Turks nodded, momentarily considering abandoning it all in search of that time machine once again. Who needed to win an election anyway? It was only the future of their lackluster careers. No big deal. Right?

"Sure. Cissnei, would you be so kind as to assist Mr. Shinra in selecting the proper- place for such a wonderful little tree."

She glanced at him with a roll of her eyes.

"Certainly." The Turk equivalent of 'You're a dead man'. Tseng trotted after Vincent and left the younger Turk to deal with the tree.

"What now Vincent?"

"You cannot win an election with something like that. I mean, look at it. That's not a tree, it's an afterthought."

"Most things in the Shinra infrastructure are afterthoughts if you haven't noticed Vincent."

"Trust me, I know. But that tree is an embarrassment."

"Well then. We'll have to get a new tree. Go get your comrade."

**Another ten minutes later, somewhere along the street, Sector Eight…**

The black market Christmas tree trade only came to Midgar once a year for two whole days on the second Tuesday and Wednesday of the twelfth month of the year. During such a time, one could find a real living, semi-green wonder of the world for a small few pieces of gil in hopes of having a special holiday celebration.

It was a joyous time. Carolers on the street corners. Children laughing and darting in and around the soft pine branches of the mighty trees.

Vincent Valentine had to admit, perhaps this mission wouldn't be so bad after all. Secure a tree and return back to the President's makeshift villa in record time. The easiest mission to date.

And at the rate his comrade was picking through the selection, they would be done in record time. His sort of mission.

"What do you think Vincent?"

The stoic Turk stood back to admire the perfect triangular tree with its perfect branches and supple green needles. Healthy pine cones still adorned it in natural decoration. But most important of all, it was tall. The tallest tree they could find. A tree fit for a king.

If it was possible to find true love, Vincent Valentine had found it in a Christmas tree lot alongside the road.

"We need that tree."

"Ah, Valentine. I see you are admiring my new tree." A voice that made the stoic Turk's eyebrow twitch and hand reach for Death Penalty. Cissnei peered out from behind one of the branches with distaste at the imposing general's presence.

There was something in Vincent's crimson eyes this time that few people had ever seen before. A sense of unholy rage bottled up for years for such a purpose as this very moment. He turned towards the silver haired general and his group of lackies.

Not today. He would be damned if SOLDIER was going to take his beloved tree from him today.

"Your tree?" The stoic Turk responded. "I'm sorry, but there appears to be a misunderstanding. You see-"

"We were here first," Cissnei added and handed her comrade the receipt for the beautiful tree. "You ready to go Vincent?"

"Never moreso." He smirked at the silver haired general and picked up his tree, carrying it towards the motorbike.

"Therein lies the gift of the goddess in the hands of those who do not understand the extent of its power." Genesis flipped through his book for a solution to their problem.

Zack glanced up from a wreath he had become ensnared in.

"Dude, we can pick another tree-"

"Quiet puppy." Sephiroth drew the MasaMune. "That tree is the one we're bringing home."

"But-"

"Angeal, control your pet. The Turks need to learn to stay out of SOLDIER territory."

**At an intersection in Sector Seven. Time, currently unknown…**

It was a daily ritual amongst the Department of Administrative Research's members that no more than two people knew existed, for fear of total, utter humiliation to strike at the most inconvenient of times.

"I dunno man. A little part of me thinks that if I press the button, the tree police will come after me yo."

Rude adjusted his shades and inspected the tiny green button for the walk signal. No one knew the origin of Reno's unfounded fear of the supposable existence of the 'tree' police's connection to pressing such a button. As far as he knew, not even their resident hacker could figure it out, although, the suspicion of Lazard and Modeoheim had appeared on several of Reno's transcripts.

"Just press the button Reno. It's cold out here."

"They exist man. The moment I press that button, the tree police are going to appear out of nowhere and do horrible things to me and you. You press it."

The bald Turk, much to his own credit, decided to stand his ground for a change.

"Nothing is going to happen. Just press the button so we can go."

Reno hesitantly held a finger against the button and trembled.

And he pressed the green button.

"See that world!" He shook his fist at the street light. "I pressed the button! And I'm aliv-"

A pine branch struck him alongside the head as the bike sped by, bullets and blades flying through the air. Rude's sunglasses cracked as they fell to the ground in the mad scramble of red hair and pine needles desperate for escape.

"Holy chit, it's the tree police!" Reno dove into the nearest dumpster out of sheer terror.

Rude continued to stare in awe as both vehicles vanished just as quickly as they appeared, leaving the road in complete silence as the walkway sign turned back to 'don't walk'.

"I think we'll take the bus instead."

**President's makeshift villa, current time…**

Tseng eyed the strand of Christmas lights warily as he dug through the box of ancient Christmas lights. Shiny balls and various ornaments adorned the garland and fake candles, sprinkled with glitter and other sparkly enhancements that made Christmas decorations stored in an attic for decades entertaining to dig through. The leader of the Turks smiled to himself and set aside several into another small pile. This was actually sort of fun in a way.

There was a massive explosion at the doorway, and Tseng beheld the strangest sight ever to grace the eyes of a Turk supposedly in charge of a situation that was out of hand before it began.

"Sir! We've secured a tree." The firing of Death Penalty filled the air with a howl of pain somewhere down the sidewalk.

Lazard? Tseng raised an eyebrow and tucked the lights back into the box out of concern.

"And a big problem." Vincent added and wrestled the tree past the female Turk struggling to aim the cumbersome weapon at the next target without hitting her comrade or the tree.

"What did you two do?"

"Vincent, ammo."

He tossed the female Turk a clip of ammunition and listened to the shout of agony from what appeared to be Genesis.

Tseng peered out the window to behold the chestnut haired SOLDIER hopping in the air in what appeared to be pain, gesturing wildly from the female Turk in the doorway to the smoldering literary masterpiece lying in pieces at his feet. Vincent gave a low whistle of approval and placed the tree protectively behind the couch before hurrying to retrieve his weapon.

It was then that he began to wonder, if by some weird, strange miracle of the universe, that otherwise hopeless Turks actually did know how to perform their missions like professionals.

"What's the manual say about this Sir?"

Sephiroth burst through the doorway, MasaMune cleaving into the wall as the female Turk scrambled out of range and struggled to locate her usual weapon. Vincent swore.

"You're not taking the tree alive!"

"Out of my way Valentine. You owe me this tree!"

"Mine."

The Buster Sword flew through the air towards the pair atop the balcony. Tseng tackled the President to the ground, a glitter snowflake sticking to his forehead.

"In these situations Sir, I would advise you to stay out of there way. A lot less law suits happen that way. Cissnei! Vincent! Do something about those Mako crazed nut jobs!"

At the mention of their department, things took a turn for the worse.

Fire blazed within the eyes of the silver haired general. His gloved hand clenched the hilt of his katana tighter and he raised his hand to summon forth a spell to destroy everyone and everything in range. Because he was cool like that.

Zack held his sword with a trembling hand, uncertain of why Genesis and Angeal did nothing to stop the impending Apocalypse in the president's villa of all places. Must be a SOLDIER thing he mused and decided to go along with it.

A piece of rounded plastic struck him between the eyes, momentarily stunning the SOLDIER in training. He glanced up in surprise to see both Turks and their leader glaring down at them with determination in their eyes, the tree protected from above in a halo of mako light.

"Christmas ball!" Zack lunged for the 'shatterproof' ornament and held it up. "Man these things are so cool. Look Angeal! Look at the way the colors swirl."

Another ornament stuck to his hair and another bounced by his foot. "Oh look, a shiny red one."

Angeal shook his head in embarrassment and turned to Genesis.

"I thought you said you taught him to ignore shiny things."

"The way of the goddess is a mystery only intellectuals may behold."

"Puppy. Focus!"

Zack dropped the ornament with a disgruntled nod. "Right. Focus. Hey! Stop throwing things! It's mean."

"Puppy," Angeal warned. "Don't threaten the ones in the blue suits."

Sephiroth was at full Super Nova mode by now, storing his MP and putting everything in order.

At the top of the stairs, Tseng was frantically trying to regain control of the situation as the panicky president knocked himself unconscious with a tiny plastic village piece. All this over a tree.

What would Veld do? He wondered, trying to recall anything even close to this from recent memory and finding nothing.

"Hell no." Vincent swore and tried to unjam Death Penalty. "That tree is not going anywhere."

He threw the weapon to the side and grabbed a box of tinsel, swinging a strand like a lasso and snagging Genesis's arm. The chestnut SOLDIER staggered into Angeal and Zack with a grumble of embarrassment.

Tseng reached for a plastic candy cane. They were not going down without a fight this year.

"SOLDIERS! Attack!" Lazard whimpered from the doorway and struggled to pry a plastic reindeer from his leg.

"Turks. Show these morons the way this should be done."

"You're going down Alien boy!"

Tseng nodded towards his two Turks and tapped the candy cane against the ground to signal the start of the battle as Vincent readied the tinsel for round two and Cissnei dug through the box in search of something useful to the battle.

Energy gathered around the madman in the center of the room as both male Turks bolted down the stairs in desperate attempt to defend their tree.

"Super-"Sephiroth collapsed to the floor in a listless heap, HP instantly drained to 0. Zack and Angeal took a step in reverse, the latter hiding behind the other in shock. Tseng and Vincent halted in equal surprise.

For a moment, no one dared to speak.

The two SOLDIER first classes, one SOLDIER 2nd class, one Director of SOLDIER, and two Turks, looked towards the tree topper wielding female Turk and back to the fallen general and then back to her, none of them believing their eyes. She crossed her arms and stared at the plastic star lying in front of the fallen general.

"What? Someone has to face the copy machine every morning."

And for the first time in his career, Tseng leaned against the banister, crossed his arms across his chest, and simply watched SOLDIER flee for their lives.

Mission accomplished.

**---**

**On the next one hundred tiny missions: **

**Behold the power of - the thirty five second sale…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	45. Special Operation Silver Bells

**Whoa, I'm actually getting updates done…Yea! Must be the candy canes the Muse stumbled upon. Heh heh. Nevermind me folks. I just hope you enjoy this update as much as I enjoyed writing it. : ) By the way, I have to apologize for the extremely poor rendition of the Night Before Christmas…And I sincerely hope you all have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. : ) **

**Special Operation Silver Bells**

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through Midgar, swat cars stood at a standstill around the one mall. The carolers were singing without any care, while Shinra MPs darted around everywhere. Shoppers were stunned at the scene they had witnessed, while regular shop keepers simply dismissed it - as a prank done by vandals, innocent and free, simply out on a regular, casual crime spree.

There were rumors and photos, most proof on cell phones. Tape recordings and surveillance of the criminals alone. Gawkers and stalkers trying to catch a peek, for fodder for Ebay was what they did seek. When all of a sudden there arose such a banter, they turned towards the fountain to see what was the matter.

And what to their wondering eyes should appear, but two frantic Turks riding panicked reindeer…

"Call Tseng already!" Rude dodged a flying candy cane and spurred the unfortunate creature over a low fence of glimmering lights. "We need their help!"

His red haired comrade swung the Electro-Mag Rod through the air with a whimper of terror and tried to catch up to his bald companion while dialing his PHS.

"Dude, what do I say yo! He's gonna kill us for this one!"

"Just tell him the truth!"

"But dude, we killed Santa Claus…"

**Earlier that day… 12:05 P.M. **

**Location: Inner city bus number 4...**

It had taken exactly two hours, forty five minutes, and thirty two seconds for Rude to convince his fellow red haired menace of a Turk that the Tree Police were not going to come back and needle him to death with their luscious pine branches and sap coated bark so long as they chose their preferred method of transport to be the Shinra Public Transportation Service for their needs.

And avoided all crosswalks, buttons, and flashing lights for the rest of their lives.

"I told you yo. The Tree Police are out to get me man. Every frickin' time."

"Calm down. Maybe it was a misunderstanding-" Rude tried to comfort his comrade, while keeping an eye out for rouge pines.

"I was assaulted by a pine tree yo! What am I supposed to do? I can't call the police, they'll send a fir or cypress something next time!"

"Can I ask what you did to anger the Tree Police to begin with."

"All I did was pee on a topiary when I was six yo. Nothing major."

And Rude knew that mankind as they knew it was doomed because of Reno's lack of dignity from childhood. The firs would not rest until the red haired menace had suffered dearly for his crime against their people.

"Oh. Well, let's see what Tseng needed us to do for him."

Reno rested his chin against his hand with a sigh. "I just don't know how to win against them. I mean. I can't zap them. Damn things are immune to electricity with their impenetrable wooden armor-"

"Reno. Focus."

"Oh, right. A mission. What's the old master of tofu want from us again?"

Rude handed him the piece of paper. Reno scanned the orders with a scowl and handed them back to the bald one with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I had to suffer the wrath of the tree people for something as simple as this?"

"Maybe not so simple," Rude continued to commit the orders to memory. "There's a Mr. Mako sticker stuck under the mission success odds…"

"I thought we took those away from her yo."

The bus ground to a halt at the intersection and Rude adjusted his sunglasses.

"You're thinking of Reeve. Cissnei just draws a red skull and crossbones across the entire paper and tells us to sign it in advance. Get your things, this is the place."

Both Turks exited the bus and stood before the mighty marble building rising high against the dreary gray sky.

"Um, Rude?"

"If this is about the Tree Police again, I'll put in a request for Tseng to bring it before the board."

"Forget the Tree Police. Just what type of Mr. Mako sticker did Reeve put on that paper again?"

"Tongue sticking out, x's for eyes. Why?"

"Damn."

**Shinra International Mall, First Floor, Bobby's Hobbies and Old Jalopies.**

**12:30 P.M.**

There was something about two grown men in midnight blue suits standing in front of a toy store that made people stop and stare. Of course, they were not privileged to know just how delicate of a mission these two highly skilled representatives of the Department of Administrative Research were involved with. No. That was something only the higher ups of the Shinra Corporate Executive wing were capable of knowing.

"Dude, gimme the bell."

"No."

Reno dug his toe into the tiled floor with a scowl.

"Why not yo? I'm supposed to be doing this volunteer thing too!"

Rude smirked and gave the tiny silver bell another jingle while a smiling customer deposited a few gil into the orange kettle.

"Because you are not mature enough to handle the great power and respect that comes with handling the silver bell of the Shinra International Relief Fund for the Care of the Crippled and Blind Chocobos."

"This isn't fair. You promised I could ring the bell."

"I lied."

Reno glared at his bald companion and leaned against the wall.

"Aw, come on Rude. I promise nothing is going to happen. Just one little ring."

Rude sighed and glanced at the silver bell. It was a more than documented fact that a creature such as Reno was easily amused by shiny objects. Even moreso when those shiny objects made noise.

Blaming it all on a lack of judgment and somewhat sense of pity for his tree targeted comrade, he silently handed the bell over to the red head and for the first time in years, said a quick prayer for mercy.

"Alright. I guess a few minutes won't hurt."

After all, a Turk playing with a bell was about as deadly as a candy cane.

"You're the best yo."

The silver bell gave a shrill ding of protest as the red head swung it through the air. Rude flinched. His precious bell in the hands of a maniac. Was there nothing sacred in the world.

"Ho ho ho. Merry Christmas!"

The right jolly old man strode past the bell ringers with a spring in his step that made the red haired menace raise an eyebrow and momentarily cease his ringing. No one was that happy around Christmastime in Midgar. Unless Reeve had packed on the pounds in a sudden rush of donuts and lattes, this was suspicious indeed. He nudged his comrade's shoulder with an elbow out of habit, held the silver bell silently, and pointed.

"Yo, who's the eggnog saturated hobo in the red suit?"

Rude glared from behind his shades.

"Kris."

"Who?"

"He's popular with the children this time of year. Nothing you need to worry about. Now give me back the bell."

"No way man. This is too much fun."

And for a brief flicker of a few seconds, Rude noticed the devil horns atop his comrade's head and the fire of mischief in his emerald green eyes. He lunged for the bell in panic as it flew from the red haired menace's hands and soared through the air.

"Ouch." The man known as Kris rubbed the back of his head and turned towards the source of the projectile. A tiny silver bell rested at his feet and he looked from Rude to the bell.

The bald man adjusted his shades in embarrassment as Reno cheered and whooped like a wild idiot. Kris retrieved the bell with a gloved hand.

"Oh," the man in the red suit's brow furrowed and he combed his snowy beard. "I see Tseng's turned his disobedient minions loose for the holiday season. Tell me, Rude, is there a day when that department ever acts remotely civilized?"

Rude accepted the bell with a silent shake of his head.

"Perhaps next year. Enjoy the holiday. Now. I've got a merry assignment of my own to attend to. Merry Christmas!"

Reno sauntered up to his comrade with a flamboyant grumble.

"So that's it? He just wanders off as if nothing happened? The nerve of him."

"Santa Claus does not kill people Reno. Frosty does. Now let him alone and let's finish our assignment."

"Oh no you don't." Reno rolled up his sleeves and stalked after the man in the Santa suit.

"Reno…" Rude warned and reached for his rental stun gun.

"I got this Rude. Hey! You! Hobo man!"

Kris continued walking, committing what could quite possibly be the boldest sin ever to grace the Turk's history book - ignoring Reno Sinclair.

**Tseng's office, 1:13 P.M.**

There were very few opportunities in the life of a Turk when one could obtain absolute power with a simple stroke of the pen, or more correctly, simply showing up for work and reaching one's office with all limbs semi-attached.

Tseng glanced up from his pile of paperwork to stare at the two SOLDIER First Classes and one SOLDIER Second Class in disgust. Only Director Lazard could drive a man of his intelligence into complete and total negative judgment IQ points in the span of two seconds. He'd counted each one.

"Tell me again exactly why you feel that this department is the right place for the three of you?"

A part of him already knew the answer, and a quick look to the closest thing to a secretary he had merely sighed and scribbled something down in her black notebook.

"Because we have nowhere else to go." The raven haired self elected leader answered in shame, while his equal ranked comrade continued to flip through a worn copy of _LOVELESS Tales, What You Never Knew About The Gift Of The Goddess_.

Tseng sighed. It was not a complete lie, although they did have places to be and jobs to do that did not involve 'Turk Stuff' as it had been explained. The raven haired youngster still appeared confused about not touching the bonsai tree and continued to play with a shiny silver Christmas ball on a string.

"Alright. Alright. I'll find you something to do." He made a mental note to personally shoot Lazard once the fair haired man recovered from his encounter with a gaggle of carolers that had landed him in a coma upon fleeing for his life from the mansion, thus sentencing the leader of the Turks to the closest thing to Hades he could recall ever being involved in. There just wasn't anything SOLDIERs could do in their department without endangering themselves and possibly Reeve.

His PHS shrilled with a vicious sound, startling everyone in the room. Without even checking to see who was calling, he flipped the phone open with a growl of annoyance.

"Tseng speaking."

"Tseng. I think we're going to need some help."

"What kind of help?" The elder Turk paled at Rude's strained tone and motioned for Cissnei to write this all down.

"Negative on exactly what kind yet Sir. But, one can safely say we're going to need it."

"How am I supposed to help you when you don't know what kind of help you need?"

"Because it hasn't happened yet."

The elder Turk slammed a fist against the desk in frustration. "You're calling me about something that hasn't even happened yet? For god's sakes Rude. You're bell ringing today. Tell me how hard that can possibly be?"

There was a shuffling sound upon the other line, as if the bald Turk had changed locations. The click of a stun gun sent static through the line.

"Sir. I've lost Reno."

"Lost him? You mean to tell me he's out there, alone? In a crowded place? With PEOPLE? Stay where you are. I'm bringing help."

**Shinra International Mall, 2:00 P.M. **

**Location: Beside the Pretzel Hut**

It was the surprise of all surprises. Rude crept around the makeshift plastic gingerbread house to happen upon a once in a lifetime sight - Reno, insane and otherwise obnoxious Reno, standing quietly in a line, a package in tow while Kris sat, _unharmed_, upon his candy cane throne continuing his duty of listening to what every little kid wanted for Christmas and posing for an accompanying photo, just like the real deal.

There was no maimed bodies or blood. Not even a trace that Reno had done anything wrong. Rude adjusted his shades in deep thought. Perhaps the red haired menace had common sense after all, albeit small at best. The fact that he was capable of finishing his own Christmas shopping was a little bit frightening, but impressive.

Even more surprising was the fact that in order to get to the volunteer gift wrapper, he had walked through no less than four pairs of decorated scotch pines and an equal amount of fake hedges to stand beside the live reindeer brought in for the display.

The Tree Police had seemingly vanished from the Turk's mind.

"Reno!" Rude scolded and trotted over to his comrade. The red haired menace smirked.

"What's up yo?"

"Where were you?"

"Finishing up my Christmas shopping."

Rude glared like a reprimanding parent scolding a younger child.

"What?" Reno responded in a false sense of hurt. "You didn't honestly think I was going to pick a fight with Santa Claus did you?"

The teenager behind the wrapping paper table accepted Reno's package and began wrapping it in bright silver snowflake paper.

"Hey, yo. Snowflakes aren't cool." Reno corrected and pointed to a crimson poinsettia paper. "We need something more Christmassy ya know."

Again, the wrapping paper volunteer began wrapping the package, brow furrowed and fingernails grating the paper in suppressed rage. Reno watched him work and continued to discuss Christmas stuff with his comrade.

"So, big guy. You get your shopping done yet?"

"Four months ago."

"Oh. Well. Hey, Overly Stressed Wrapping Paper Dude. I think that's good enough."

The teenagers eyes turned molten fire-like as he wrapped a ribbon around the package.

"Dude," Reno backed away with his package tucked safely under his arm. "It's not a big deal. It's just gonna get torn anyway…"

"ARGH!!!" A package nearly knocked Rude unconscious as the man behind the counter continued to flail his arms and throw pieces of wrapping paper every which way. "No one understands the hell I go through to wrap these gifts with the perfect creases and corners! The delicacy of choosing the perfect ribbon and see through tape. NO ONE!"

Rude struggled to find the quickest route of escape amongst the crowd for both his comrade and his own safety, finding nothing short of the impossible. They were going to die in a few minutes. He tried to recall how much damage a piece of ribbon could do, comparing it to a tree topper. The stun gun flicked to life along with Reno's Electro-Mag Rod.

They were screwed.

One of the stand in reindeer reared onto its hind legs at the touch of the stun gun against its flank with a roar of surprise. Rude paled.

Hooves flailing wildly, it staggered forward into the side of the gingerbread house and collapsed to its knees in a stupor - Christmas lights blinking mockingly around its antlers. Reno paled, listening to the grind of plastic and snap of gumdrops, the pieces falling in a hailstorm of chaos.

"Ho. Ho-"

Both Turks stared at the polished black boots of the Santa Claus poking out beneath the glitter frosted remnants of the building in horror. Had they just-

Murderous children surrounded the scene, eyes wide in shock. One even dared to poke Kris's foot with a plastic candy cane. Somewhere in the crowd, a woman screamed.

"They killed him!"

So they did the only thing Turks in danger could do…

Each leapt aboard a reindeer and spurred it towards freedom.

"Run for it!"

**Present time…Midgar Mall Parking Lot 2:30 P.M.**

There were four types of phone calls a man of Tseng's stature never hoped to receive in his life. The first, was the untimely death of a subordinate by means too humiliating to mention. The second, a subordinate captured by fan girls. The Third, said subordinate calling to ask for bail money to escape from jail. But the forth, well, in the _Big Book of Turk Leader Phone Call Protocol_, was not even listed.

"You did what?" Tseng shouted in the middle of the parking lot and watched the two reindeer graze upon Genesis's book while the two Turks remained seated upon them. The chestnut haired man grumbled something about demonic beasts who oppose the gift of the goddess while Zack busied himself by scratching the one's ears. Angeal merely shook his head in embarrassment.

"It's not what it looks like. The reindeer did it. I swear!"

Rude nodded in agreement with his comrade. For once, they really were telling the truth.

The elder Turk reached for his pistol and heard the click of Death Penalty and Rekka being engaged immediately. Apparently he was not the only one pissed off by the news brought to them.

"You killed Kris from accounting! Do you realize what you have done? The whole Shinra pay scale's going to crash because of this!"

"We didn't mean to! Honest! Seriously yo. I was just trying to get a present wrapped. No one knew the gingerbread house was gonna fall on him."

"You dropped a gingerbread house on him? Oh dear lord. Reno. Rude. Off those reindeer right now."

Cissnei and Vincent exchanged glances as the fore legged beasts continued to harass the SOLDIERs, one trampling Genesis into the ground and biting his hair.

"Sir. What should we do?"

Tseng scratched his chin and leaned against the lamppost.

"Usually when someone calls asking their superior officer for help, they did not murder Santa Claus. Damage control. There's no way we can cover this one."

He could only imagine the years of therapy every child in Midgar was going to need from this incident. They needed a plan, and a good one at that.

**Fifteen minutes later…2:45 P.M.**

"Exactly where does it say this again Cissnei?" Tseng swore and drew the belt tighter around the fleece lined robe. The auburn haired Turk flipped through the handbook with a sigh.

"Section 82 A. Under Christmas Catastrophes and Holiday Solutions for the Sober. I believe Katana and Rod entered this one into the book Sir. And Veld signed it."

"Damn it. Well." He stomped his boots with a wince at how large they were. "Take a note. Write directly under that the current year and that I say it goes out the window."

"But think of the children Tseng." Angeal struggled to fit into the green tights and watched Genesis and Zack skipping around the parking lot with the reindeer in tow. "At least you can give them back at the end of the day."

"No. Unfortunately this crew belongs to me." He swung the sack of candy canes over his shoulder and adjusted his fake beard. "Alright Elves. Let's get this the hell over with."

Three persistent grumbles met his own as Vincent crossed his arms across his chest and held up a camera. "Sorry. I could not resist this one for the scrapbook. The Turks save Christmas. Who would have thought."

And, with their fearless leader in the lead, they walked back into the mall.

"Operation Tingle in your Kringle is a go."

"Alright. From now on, SOLDIERs do not get the make the names of our missions up. Got that."

Every Turk nodded in agreement.

**By the fountain…5:45 P.M.**

He had survived the first three hours of biting, kicking, screaming infants, toddlers, and preschoolers with most of his hit points intact. He'd been poked in the eye by a peppermint lollipop, kneed in the groin by a teenager, watched three of his elves tackle said teenager to the ground and beat the crap out of him with sugarplums. But one of the most interesting things that had occurred so close to closing time, had been the scene over by the fake candles, where a group had gathered.

Genesis sat finishing the last rendition of a LOVELESS Christmas Carol to the group of interested adults seated around his feet while Zack and Angeal wrestled the unwilling reindeer into their harnesses. Anything after what they had been rented for would have been charged as double to the company after all.

Reno flicked the reins with a smirk and watched Rude, Vincent, and Cissnei settle into the backseat of the fire truck red sleigh, mixed looks of confusion and joy upon their faces.

Were those smiles? The elder Turk stepped over to his 'ride' and could not help but smile at his underlings behaving like civilized elfin humanoids. Children watched in highest regards as he took his place in the driver's seat beside Reno.

"Where to driver?"

"North Pole."

Reno winked.

"You got it boss. Should I run over the wrapping paper boy?"

"Nah. It's Christmas. We'll get him later."

Reno stood up and flicked the reins.

"On Dingo and Dimple."

Rude leaned forward with a grunt. "It's Dasher and Dancer."

"I got this yo." Reno defended much to his fellow 'elves' embarrassment. "And Rico, and Nixon."

"Prancer and Vixen." Vincent grit his teeth at the laughter of the children. Reno swatted his hand aside and once again seized the reins with a wink.

"On Commode and Dixon-"

"Comet and Blitzen." Cissnei sighed as the SOLDIERs filed into their seat.

"Fine." Reno replied snidely and pointed a candy cane at the reindeer. "You, you, and you. Giddyup!"

The sleigh shrieked as it glided over the floor at the strength of eight reindeer working in perfect harmony.

"Merry - whoa!"

The reindeer slid to a halt, throwing the red haired menace directly into the row of scotch pines. Tseng seized the reins and steered them around the wreckage with a smirk. Perhaps being Santa for an afternoon was not a bad thing after all.

"Not the Tree Police again! This is not funny yo!"

"Sorry Reno. I believe you were about to steal my line." He snapped the reins with a smirk and the reindeer moved into a fluid canter towards the parking lot. "Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!"

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Ringing in the New Year, Turk Style.**

**Merry Christmas everyone! **

**- SageQuill :)**


	46. Mission 46 Operation New Year Noodle

**Happy New Year! ::Distracted by fireworks:: I wish you all the best and here's to a brand new year full of good fortune, lots of new - better missions, possibly an arrest or two, and lots more Reno and Vincent embarrassing and Tseng bashing! (I apologize for this chapter. The Muse was tired when she wrote it.) Enjoy folks and have a safe celebration!**

**Today's mission sponsored by: **

**Nelley Neko's New New Years Noodles. Buy our product or we'll park our ugliest pagoda cart outside your window and hurl insults at you all night long!**

**Mission 46 - Operation New Year Noodle**

There were very few things in life that Tseng absolutely hated, and a million and one things he just disliked just because he could. No. It was not because he was simply a vindictive, Holy forbid mean, _cranky_ executive past his prime who spent too much time in the eternal office of failure. That wasn't it at all. His hatred stemmed from one incident in his life which only he and several other unfortunate victims involved could lay claim to being involved with.

This is their story.

**New Year's Eve, 2008, 5:00 P.M.**

"Ladies and Gentlemen." President Shinra paced the boardroom floor and tapped a pen against the surface of the mahogany table for the sheer purpose of annoyance. "I have called you here tonight to discuss an extremely important matter by which this company is greatly threatened by."

The group of people in midnight blue suits twiddled their thumbs and tapped their fingers expectantly against the burnished mahogany table out of nervous habit. It was a rare occasion they were summoned much of anywhere, let alone as the sole invites to the presidential board room. It must have been the giant mosquito people epidemic again. They seemed to be having a huge problem with that lately, and Project FlySwatter was not due until sometime next year at best. Something about blond haired infantrymen wandering into the bug zappers because they thought the light was pretty.

Cissnei, Rude, and Vincent exchanged nervous glances while Reno exchanged glares with a rather bright poinsettia. Nothing good ever came out of a meeting with the president on such short notice.

"It is a crisis. It is a nightmare. It is-"

Rufus stood up and drew his tattered Midgar Zoloms jersey around his shoulders, blond hair askew.

"It's downright wrong. And I want you nitwits to fix it!"

The Turks stared at the disgruntled youth, half expecting something to fall on him. Reno even skirted his chair back six inches should he need to flee. One never knew just which of the nine lives would fall victim to the unfortunate creature known as Rufus Shinra on any given day.

Tseng cleared his throat and stood up.

"Sirs, do you have a proper mission protocol orders prepared for-"

A thick manila folder stamped with multiple decades worth of dates and with a running tally of red marks landed before the Wutainese man, making him turn several shades paler. Reno toyed with his ponytail absently.

"Didn't think that one through, did ya boss?"

"You be quiet." He tossed the folder to Cissnei and Vincent, who retrieved it with defeated sighs.

"How come we always have to read this first? You're the one who is the leader!"

"Because I'm the oldest."

Rude grunted in disagreement and Vincent glared.

Everyone turned towards them.

"What?" Tseng scowled. "I'm pushing thirty and it's pushing back. Like either of you are that close."

Vincent pointed.

"I'm fifty two and Baldy bulldozed thirty into the ground and stomped on it a couple of times two years ago."

"Okay." Reno picked his chair up and moved it further away. "That's a little weird."

President Shinra and his son blinked stupidly at the revelation and glanced from Turk to Turk. Vincent's eyes narrowed and he straightened his tie matter-of-factly.

"It's not my fault I'm trapped in the body of a twenty something sex god with a fan base larger than any army on this planet! Though, the benefits aren't half bad most of the time."

Tseng glared with warning.

"Remember who is also on that list buddy and who has the power to summon massive amounts of humiliation at a moment's notice."

Vincent stood up and did something unprecedented in the Turk history - he tossed the folder to Tseng.

"Actually. I'm going drinking with Angeal and Genesis. You can handle this one boss."

And Tseng was about to learn the official definition of mutiny as he flipped the folder open and began to read.

**Tseng's office, New Years Eve, 5:15 P.M. **

They had heard legends of this particular foe over the years. Of a beast so terrifying, it dwarfed the most notorious of foes in level, HP, and even MP and STR. Many a fine SOLDIER had lost their dignity to the creature listed in the bestiary, and many more a fine Turk. Rude and Cissnei could still recall the day Shotgun, Katana, Martial Arts, Rod, Legend, and even Commander Veld, had trudged through the office door, suits torn, clutching broken arms and limping heavily upon sprained ankles with bruised egos and unable to even sit down. Scorched, miserable, and otherwise plain cranky, they had thrown their broken weapons upon the table and simply stood - glaring at one another in shame and defeat at being ousted by such a simple foe. Worst yet. They had actually been forced to move their offices in secret Turk awesomeness to the opposite side of the building in an effort to escape just what had chased them the whole way home.

If the auburn-haired female Turk's memory was correct, it had taken slightly more than two years to get anyone from their department to leave headquarters to go back to their apartments, during which time, she had spent many a fine day running errands for her cowardly comrades, the lounge had been constructed, and Reno had been 'acquired' to assist her.

"Sir," she defended, figuring, that if anytime was a good time to get fired, today would be the day. "We can't deal with this foe. It's beyond our level of expertise."

"We're all the president has left. He would have sent SOLDIER, but the two intelligent specimens are off drinking with Vincent, and that Fair boy is in the hospital because he cut his finger on a shatterproof ornament. And Holy knows we cannot send infantrymen. Their uniforms are in the laundry until Tuesday."

"Alright. Alright. We'll do it." Rude defended and read over something he and Cissnei had written upon a piece of paper. "But, sir. We're going to need a Gameshark. Possibly even a CodeBreaker, and A LOT of elixirs, phoenix downs, high potions, ethers, a fly fishing rod, a pair of Reno's socks, and a pair of pliers."

Tseng blinked as his three underlings hovered over the file with information on their foe.

"Fly fishing rod? What are you people up to-"

The door burst open with the form of a frazzled engineer in desperate need of a shave. Reeve collapsed at the elder Turk's feet and held a trembling piece of paper up to his superior officer.

"Tseng! Thank Holy I found you. It's arrived!"

Tseng loaded his pistol and charged out the door, three panicked Turks in pursuit. There was not a second to lose.

**Sector Eight Fountain, 5:45 P.M. **

"Bogsnort to Piano Dude. Come out. Over."

The line crackled from the staircase leading to the train station.

"Why did you call yourself Bogsnort? I thought we agreed you were Inklekins this time."

"Who the hell is Tinkletins yo!"

"Not Tinkletins, Inklekins." Tseng responded in dread over the PHS walkie system, rubbing his forehead and peering through the potted topiary to size up their foe amidst the crowd of people mingling about. He was really starting to regret adopting Vincent's position on the team.

Snickers could be heard over the static.

"Not one word Cricket."

"Wasn't planning on saying anything sir."

"Yeah." Reno responded. "She was just going to crawl further under her park bench and laugh hysterically at you."

"Who in the hell picked these names anyway? Was it the SOLDIERs again?"

"Actually," Rude buzzed in. "It was-"

"Head's up people. Our target just rolled into the square."

Tseng nodded and watched their foe with hawk-like eyes. Today was the day he was going to make history for Turks past and present. They were going to defeat the undefeatable foe.

"Bogsort. Piano Man. Cricket. Cover me. I'm moving in."

He tucked the borrowed PHS onto his belt and sauntered out behind the topiary to face their opponent.

**By the Fountain, 5:55 P.M.**

It was probably one of the most brilliant pieces of mobile carpentry a blind man could have possibly built and subcontracted to a kindergarten decorating committee. Glitter spilled like a waterfall of brilliance over neon lavender shingles and obscene yellow and pink boards to coat the hunter orange cartwheels providing a range of motion to the contraption. A crayon drawing of a happy-go-lucky kitten clutching a bowl of steaming ramen and doing what appeared to be some sort of constipated jig coated most of the entire right side and a group of sparkly pans.

Steam spilled from the interior of the wagon, a miserable chocobo standing awkwardly at the head of the wagon with a cute baby blue headband with cat ears over his head. Tseng shuddered and tapped his hand against the window.

"Oh dear Holy Leviathan, Bahamut, Ifrit, Shiva, Moogle-" He stepped back in absolute shock and stared at the blond haired creature poking its head out of the window with a blue eyed glare that stripped every ounce of confidence from his soul.

"Well look what the cat dragged in!" She smirked and tossed a ladle into a pot to face Tseng again. "Long time no see Penguin Boy."

"What in the hell are you doing in my town!"

"Now now," she smiled sweetly. "Is that a way to greet your darling unknown cousin?"

"Get out." Tseng grit his teeth and pointed to the train station. "Take this monstrosity and get out of Midgar before I have to call reinforcements Nelley."

She filed her bright red fingernails absently and smirked.

"If they're anything like what my aunt says they are, I've got nothing to worry about."

"This is a public facilitated celebration square for tonight with enough vendors as it is. You cannot sell that garbage here." He pointed to the pot of noodles. "They won't let you."

She laughed, an eerie screechy laugh that made the chalk boards curl up in terror and cover their trays.

"Texico Taco folded his last tortilla. Chinese Cho's Kung Pow's out of town. Hot Dog Bob ran away sobbing. And I simply killed the snow cone guy."

"You sick twisted-"

A cup of noodles splashed across his tie.

"No one messes with Nelley's New New Year's Noodles. We own this town now and there's not a thing you can do about it. That'll be 1250 gil please."

**Shinra Headquarters stairs, 6:30 P.M. **

Tseng continued to dab the handkerchief against the noodle stained tie with mutterings of curse words and death threats towards the sticky bowties and curved macaroni shapes plastered across his suit. It was an insult, just plain wrong. Noodles in Midgar. It was not humane.

Ten years of living off microwaveable noodles had been more than enough to drive him into the 'Anti-Noodle alliance of Midgar' and declare war against all things deemed even close to pasta of the noodle variety. He hated noodle carts and their brightly colored pagoda rooftops. He hated absolutely everything their was to know about the history, purpose, use, taste, texture, look, and smell of the stringing and sometimes bowtie foul excuse for a food product.

"This sucks yo." Reno folded his arms across his chest and glared at the menace frightening small children and most adults with its shrieking and dancing. "What for ungodly level is that thing anyway?"

"You don't even want to know." The red headed female beside him tossed the Libra materia into its pouch and continued to observe their foe as another round of people scurried out of range with insults hurled at them.

"I don't know what she said to Rude, but I've never seen someone cry like that."

"For god's sakes. She killed the snow cone guy. We cannot fight something like that Tseng. There's just no way. Admit it. That, thing, has taken over our territory."

The elder Turk straightened his tie and stood up with a glare.

"This has gone on long enough. I mean. Look at us. We're intimidated by a noodle maker and her obnoxious cart."

Reno rubbed a bruise along the side of his chin.

"Yeah. Simple noodle maker. I fled with my life from a bowl of ramen dude. How can I still call myself a man after that?"

"And I'll never look at spaghetti the same way again." Cissnei mumbled in defeat.

Rude continued to cry.

"We're going to beat this monster. We have to. If we let her take over the New Year's Eve Celebration, we'll all be letting Shinra down. Now. We need a plan." He pulled out the list of ingredients they had compiled earlier in the day. "I don't care what you have to do. But make come up with something that works."

**Turk Floor, 11:45 P.M. **

Reeve Tuesti had not only written the definition of coward for the latest edition of the Midgar Public Skool Dictionary - he lived it. Probably one of the most cowardly on the planet if you wanted to get technical about it. He brandished the phone in a trembling motion not too uncommon of a man about to faint at the four suited demons cornering him by the file cabinets.

"You want me to do what?"

Reno locked the door and while Rude and Cissnei struggled to reel in the struggling engineer with the fly fishing rod with moderate success. So far, they had managed to drag him slightly past the desk into the open.

"Stop wiggling old man. You won't get hurt that badly."

"Pain?" Reeve paled. "You didn't say anything about pain!"

Tseng grasped the engineer's arm and tried to pull the man into a standing position.

"We need you Reeve. You're the only one who can save all of Midgar."

"Save Midgar? Good god man. It's a bloody noodle cart! Just let it go."

"No. That noodle cart is evil. It needs to be destroyed. And you are going to do this whether you like it or not."

Reeve crossed his arms and scowled.

"You can't make me do much of - Give that back!"

Reno tossed the protractor into the air and caught it with a devious smirk. The engineer paled.

"Alright. Alright. I'll do it. But don't hurt my protractor!"

And Reeve set out to be the world's greatest hero…

**Four minutes later…**

"Oh. My. God. It blew up Reeve with its eyes!"

Reno watched as Tseng watched the engineer being carted off of the street by the EMTs amid the traumatized crowd. Struggling to give the thumbs up to the mortified Turks who had never seen ramen used as a weapon like that, Reeve vanished into the ambulance, never to be seen again…until next year.

"Reno," Tseng trembled and watched the sinister smirk of Nelley the noodle cart lady across the crowd. "Make the call."

"What call?"

"Plan X."

There was a collective gasp from the three Turks behind him. Cissnei retrieved her notebook in terror.

"Sir. We can't possibly-"

"Make the damn call."

Reno raised an eyebrow.

"She's right yo. That plan goes against the Jenova Convention."

"I don't care. Make the call and get that noodle cart out of here. Now."

Rude dialed a number.

The AVALANCHE operative nodded from his perch atop the windowsill and drew his shoulder back to swing the rod through the air. The fishing line swirled elegantly around in silvery threads, carrying the black sock with it. And, with a casual whistle, he released the cast and began manipulating the line around the doorknob of room 215.

And the gates of Shinra Hell were unleashed.

**Sector Eight Fountain, 11:58 P.M.**

Nelley Neko raised an eyebrow and eyed the powerless beast before her. With a cackling laugh, she watched Tseng swearing venomously and kicking the stairs in frustration while the bald Turk tried to calm him down.

"Nice try Penguin Boy. But a copy machine is a lame ass weapon against a bowl of ramen. You'll never beat me with office supplies!"

A raucous choir of pinging filled the backside of the pagoda. Tiny pieces of metal ricocheted across the pans with increasing decibels, making the young woman cringe. She turned away from the copier for a moment in search of the newcomer, finding nothing but the crowd.

She drew her patented ramen shooter and beat up a fleeing customer while searching for the source of the attack.

Reno ducked against the side of the fountain with the auburn haired female Turk clutching the possessed stapler.

"This is insanity."

"Why in the hell didn't we tell him to grab another extension cord?"

Of all of the things to beat the legendary copier machine, running out of extension cord had never even crossed their minds.

"Poor guy broke his arm and almost got eaten by the damn thing and now its sitting right there, calm as can be. What do we do now?"

Both Turks' eyes narrowed in revelation of what needed to be done. Reno calmly removed his shoe and a long black sock.

"The only thing we can do 'Nei. Human sacrifices."

Silence greeted him.

"This is the part where you say 'No Reno. Don't go. I can't live without you if you die.' And then you cry and beg me not to - are you even listening to me?"

Cissnei loaded the stapler again and aimed.

"Sorry Reno. Did you say something?"

"Aw hell. Fine. But don't say I didn't ask you to want me babe. Get that thing ready to annoy."

The giant flashing chocobo began its trek down along the pillar and the crowd began to chant.

**10... **

Rude adjusted his sunglasses and gave a thumbs up to Tseng.

**9... **

Vincent crossed a leg over his knee and sipped his beverage with the two SOLDIERs from the balcony with Rufus and President Shinra.

**8... **

Reeve cast a protect spell from the ICU.

**7... **

The AVALANCHE operative nibbled on a donut.

**6... **

An infantryman picked his nose.

**5... **

Rufus found a shiny new penny.

**4... **

Cissnei fired the stapler at the noodle cart and Reno threw a sock and ran...

**3... **

Nelley Neko glared at them both.

**2...**

Reno touched the EMR to the metal parts of the copier plug...

**1...**

The copier came back to life.

"You're all a bunch of rejected penguins whose mamma don't even love you! You haven't seen the last of meeeeeeee!"

The Turks watched with mild satisfaction as the noodle cart soared across Midgar's skyline…and crashed into the middle of the chocobo, freezing time one second before New Years Day.

"Way to go boss."

"Shut up."

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions…**

**It's a new year with new rules for our favorite members of the Department of Administrative Research….**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	47. Mission 47 Operation Eavesdrop

**Alright, I'll be the first to admit it, this chapter is a rather pointlessly dumb one. (No need to agree, when I admit it, I already know.) :P I just wrote it because I felt like it and needed a filler mission. Hopefully though, you'll get a laugh out of it, and no, what is going on is not - well, I'll let you all find out for yourselves. You may start feeling bad for poor Tseng right about now…**

**Mission Forty Seven - Operation Eavesdrop**

Under typical circumstances, the bulletin board nailed to the hallway wall was just that - a piece of faded corkboard no one paid any heed to. Tseng was not entirely certain if it was the dimensions of the board in general that drove people away. It was relatively daunting to look at and slightly intimidating on a good day. Or if it was simple illiteracy amongst those who possessed offices in his hallway. He scratched the latter off of the list. There usually were no words nailed to it, just a random batch of incriminating photographs and the occasional block lettering not too unlike a kindergarten class might possess.

On occasion, he had seen his lovable little minions decorate it for the holidays. He wasn't sure yet if the string of lights with the lone flickering light bulb was from Christmas or the Forth of July. No one had bothered to take it down once it was up. In fact. No one had bothered to do much of anything with the unloved bulletin board serving as an eyesore to all who beheld its presence.

The problem was, Tseng did not know exactly what to file something like this under.

"No you may not and that is final!"

"Aw. Come on. I wanna touch them. They're too alluring to resist babe."

"I don't care if you were the last person on earth Reno! You are not allowed to touch them."

Tseng pressed his back against the wall as the female red head stormed past with a plastic binder under her arm and a look that could murder most of the WEAPONS should they ever encounter it. Several feet behind trailed the taller red head of the two looking every bit as annoying as he usually did.

"Dude," Reno whistled innocently. "By the end of the day I'm gonna touch them! And you know you'll like it!"

Tseng watched the taller redhead of the two fall beneath the wrath of a flexible plastic binder in one hit. They really needed to do some leveling. Cissnei made no effort to retrieve her notebook as she stormed into her office and slammed the door behind her, muttering vicious threats about what she was going to do to the next person to disturb her.

Without sympathy, he retrieved a yardstick and prodded the fallen Turk to ensure he was still alive. Almost immediately, Reno jumped to his feet and picked the lock to the youngest Turk's office before vanishing inside and relocking the door behind him.

Tseng raised and eyebrow and took a sip of his coffee, trying to decide where he could pin the latest set of rules and regulations amongst the scattered announcements no one bothered to even read.

"Stop touching my blossoms!"

"Well if they were not touching my rocks, we wouldn't have this problem."

The echo of a desk being moved with a loud grating sound.

"That's just wrong Reno."

"Hang on a second. I'm not done. I need to angle this just right-"

Tseng nearly choked on his coffee and turned his attention upon the youngest Turk's office door. A loud crash ensued, followed by the yelp of pain from what he assumed to be Reno.

"Ow! Damn it 'Nei! I think you broke it!"

"Grow up and take it like a man!"

The coffee cup fell from his hands.

"That's not fair 'Nei! You can't just dispose of the evidence like that."

"You want to do this Reno, you do this my way. Now shut up and hand me those tongs."

The elder Turk cringed at the language and sound of something being thrown across the room.

"I see they're at it again." Rude's voice filled the hall, startling the leader of the Turks. Tseng raised an eyebrow, stunned.

"Wait, you knew about this?" he scowled, disappointment in his tone to the bald man's lack of concern to the thudding and swearing going on behind the mahogany door. Rude nodded without hesitation.

"Yeah. They do this every third Friday of the month. But, they have to do it in secret, Rufus is allergic."

"Rufus! What in the hell does he have to do with this?" His opinion of his youngest Turk was starting to decline even moreso than he thought possible. If Rufus was involved… "Never mind. I want this behavior stopped before Corporate finds out!"

"But Sir," Rude gently repremanded him. "You approved them to partake in such an activity."

"What? There is no way in Hades!" Tseng's face flushed red with rage at the nerve of his other Turk acting so casual about such a thing. Rude adjusted his sunglasses.

"You did. You signed the paperwork and everything."

"Paper work? I'm going to kill them for this."

"Calm down," Rude assured him. "They're not doing anything bad. It's a natural process for stress relief. A sense of feng shui that is rather pleasant to look at."

"I'll feng shui them-" Trembling with rage at what was going on behind closed doors while he was still in the hallway, he stuck the rules to the board and stormed towards the door. Rude merely blinked.

"Now that is how it is done!" Reno's voice echoed through the door in satisfaction.

Tseng swiped the master key into the lock and swung the door open with the rage of an angry bear -

Only to find both red haired Turks fully clothed and practically hovering over what appeared to be a small wooden box filled with sand.

"Need something Sir?" Cissnei asked without looking away from the tiny rock garden where the bamboo plant sat with its pretty pink blossoms overshadowing a small scattering of brilliant turquoise rocks.

Tseng blushed a deep crimson color at the completely innocent activity his Turks were embroiled in, and walked back into the hallway, past Rude, and to the lounge for another cup of coffee. It was going to be a long day.

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Tseng obtains a near impossible mission with dire consequences for his Turks…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	48. Mission 48 Operation Crypto quote

**Hi there folks! Sorry about the delay in missions. I've been a busy Muse. With any luck, I should have more time for the missions and my other fics throughout February, so you should be seeing more updates than the current amount being posted. (I'm shooting for at least two a week if possible.) Hopefully. Anyway, this is sort of one of those short missions before a mission deals in which the boys overreact and ya'll know chaos will ensue. Enjoy! **

**Mission Forty Eight - Operation Crypto quote**

To the Department of Administrative Research, there was no such thing as an 'impossible' mission. There were missions that were accomplished, missions stuck in limbo, missions of insanity, failed missions, draw missions, and so on. But never had there been a real living breathing 'impossible' mission.

Until Reno posted the paperwork on the bulletin board for all to see.

For a moment, the two other males merely stared at what had drifted in from the corporate boardroom three floors above them in mild shock. It was not humanly possible. It couldn't be. No where on Gaia could something of this caliber exist in the Department of Administrative Research.

"What does it say?" Rude adjusted his sunglasses and tried to make out the scripted writing across the surface with little success. "I don't understand a word of it."

"Don't look at me!" Vincent countered, eyes shifty with a plan already. "I've never seen such an atrocity and even if I did I would never admit it to you two."

Rude crossed his arms over his chest with a scrutinizing glare.

"Well, we can't just leave it there. What if Tseng sees it?"

"I don't know. Find a home for it until we can save up enough proofs of purchase to buy that secret ultra cool decoder ring or something. I don't care." Vincent adjusted his tie and pretended to be oblivious to the letter tacked to the board.

"Admit it V-boy. You know you want to know what it means for us."

"What? It's not like you two know how to tackle this one either."

"Chill yo. I've got people for this sort of thing." Reno tore the piece of paper from the bulletin board and began striding down the hall. Rude halted his oh-so-innocent walking with a swift grasp of the shoulder.

"On no you don't. We're going with you, just to make sure you don't betray us somewhere along the line."

"Betray you?" Reno pretended to appear hurt. "I would never betray you big guy-"

The EMR zapped him in the stomach and the red head took off running. Vincent pulled out Death Penalty and began firing at random in vain attempt to prevent his 'former' comrade from reaching the safety of the youngest Turk's office.

"I will however do what I can to defend my status as a man!" Reno stuck his tongue out and dodged the bullets, reaching the door in three strides or less. He turned the knob and forced his way through the door-

Only to find the office empty, at 3:00 in the afternoon. He raised an eyebrow at the alarming amount of paperwork still remaining atop the desk, pencils askew, and a the message machine still blinking with unanswered messages. A rather abused laptop sat beside the rock garden, still with the screens up for the day.

"Any of you seen 'Nei around?" Reno asked his lethal companions out of curiosity. It was not like the youngest Turk to leave top secret documents lying around where idiots could access them.

Vincent reached the doorway, Death Penalty in hand and Rude leaned against the wall in pain.

"She should be here," the stoic Turk replied, scanning the room for any signs of foul play. He spotted her blazer draped carelessly over the back of the desk chair and the shuriken leaning against the bookcase where she always kept it at work.

"Maybe we should call her?" Reno asked, a little bit worried that his comrade

"No can do." Vincent picked up the PHS lying on the desk and tossed it to his red haired companion. "She doesn't have it with her."

"Damn it. We got to find her yo. What if she-" Reno's eyes widened at the dark stain along the corner of the desk. "Is that blood?"

Vincent jumped in alarm and studied the substance, rubbing it between his fingers. A dark crimson color stained his fingers.

Rude fainted.

"That is not cool yo! Someone has been here. Look! Footprints! We should call Tseng."

"Wait a minute Reno," Vincent held a hand up and sat down at the laptop to read what was on the screen.

"Dude, you're corrupting evidence! What if she's hurt? What if the killer-"

"Calm down and let me work. Here. You check her little black book for any suspicious appointments she might have had earlier today. I'll check her e-mail and this weird message on screen." The stoic Turk studied the tiny pack of Moombas frolicking across a mountain stream.

"That's the wallpaper," Reno corrected. Vincent shot the red haired Turk a death glare.

"Wallpaper is for walls Reno. It cannot be on computers. Now, about this moomba killer. They have something in common…"

"That's the screensaver-"

Vincent scratched his chin and continued to watch the picture of the happy-go-lucky moombas.

"Why would anyone want to save a screen? This killer is one sick bastard."

"Click on the desktop," Reno advised while Rude regained consciousness and staggered into the room to watch.

"You can't click on a desktop you idiot."

"Yes you can," Reno corrected. "Left click on the mouse-"

"I knew she was sadistic but Holy I did not think that sadistic. Hooking cute fuzzy animals to a computer-"

"It's not a fuzzy animal yo. It's a plastic mouse."

"They coat them in plastic? And the Midgarian Ethical Animal Treatment Society is okay with this?" The stoic Turk turned livid as Reno retrieved the mouse and plugged it into the laptop.

Reno sighed. Now he understood why no one ever mentioned computers around the elder Turks.

"Nevermind the mouse. Listen to me. At any moment whoever kidnapped her-"

"You are freaking out way too much over this Reno. I'm sure she's just at a meeting-" Rude replied in a casual manner, trying to remember just what for important meeting might have taken place this afternoon that would require the higher ranked Turks to attend immediately.

"Oh course I'm freaking out!" Reno shouted and waved his arms in the air out of exasperation. "She's like one of only two eligible bachelorettes in this company we can ask to the annual Valentine's ball, which, according to this damn memo, we _have_ to attend with a woman at our sides yo or forever expose our closet pseudo-falsely implied homosexuality to the entire company!"

Rude blinked. Vincent raised an eyebrow.

"You mean, there was a second unmarried, uncommitted, non-lesbian, semi-hot woman hired for this company? And we were not informed of this?"

"I was talking about Scarlet you jackasses."

Vincent turned to the bald Turk.

"Rude, would you kindly gouge my eyes out with that small metal rake for the rock garden? If we don't have dates to this thing, we're going to have to-" Vincent shuddered. "Date fan girls…"

"Wait a second Vincent," Rude sauntered over to the laptop and made the screensaver vanish. "We can still salvage our manhood. It says here she's supposed to be meeting Tseng for coffee today at seven."

Two sets of wide eyes met the bald one's.

"Coffee?"

"After hours?"

Reno's eyes narrowed. "That bastard. He intends on out-manning us all by setting up a fake murder scene to get her alone with him!"

"No shit Sherlock Sinclaire," the stoic Turk whined in distress. "The problem is, what do we do about it?"

"It's your holiday! You tell us!"

"Just because I share a last name means nothing-"

Rude slammed the laptop shut with a mumble of ingenious.

"Gentlemen. I think I have a plan."

Both Turks huddled closer to hear the bald one's words of wisdom.

"Listen. If we save our fellow eligible female Turk, she will no doubt be grateful. And, in typical damsel in distress fashion, she will no doubt be in our debt. Now, here's what we know about her. She's a woman. Women tend to gossip with other women, which automatically makes them friends. Those friends have clubs of women who meet, shop, hang out at the mall, and do other girly things like get their nails done and so on. If we rescue one of the 'pack' no doubt there are a great multitude of opportunities for us males who need dates. If you get my drift."

"Whoa," Reno said, eyes wide. "You mean, 'Nei actually has female friends?"

"And she goes to the mall willingly?" Vincent asked in equal surprise. There was a lot he did not know about his fellow Turks apparently.

"She gets her nails done?"

Rude sighed.

"Gentlemen. I believe this is a mission for the Dude Squad."

"Dude Squad?"

"Yes. Unless we want the SOLDIERs involved, we're going to do the only thing we can to succeed in Operation Valentine." He placed his hand upon the desk and adjusted his shades. "We're going to have to kill Tseng."

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**The countdown to the halfway mission begins with phase one of Operation Dude Squad. **

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill :)**


	49. Mission 49 Operation Dude Squad

**Yet another fun filler mission leading up to the big event. But you know the fiftieth mission is gonna be big. ;) Therefore, enjoy this chapter folks while the Muse busily types away at the halfway mission in hopes that you will all enjoy it when it is posted. And be sure to vote in the brand new poll while you wait. **

**Mission Forty Nine - Operation Dude Squad**

There was something about three grown men creeping through the underbrush of the local faux hedges that just seemed wrong to one very curious Reeve Tuesti. Perhaps it was the overload of misguided testosterone crowded into such a small area. Or perhaps it had something to do with Reno's distinct lack of total agreement with the makeshift mission. Something about stalking their oh-so-fearless leader outside of his own apartment felt like an accident waiting to happen.

But then again, women did strange things to men this time of year. Reeve had seen many a fine man go out on a limb and sacrifice both bank account and dignity to please said members of the opposite sex just to look good in the eyes of those who supported such a holiday.

As he sat at the bus stop less than a block away from where the impending 'assassination' would take place in a few minutes, Reeve Tuesti began to wonder just what could have driven those three to this length. He glanced down at his word search, not having the heart to tell them that Tseng had already left for the coffee shop from work and had not even gone home.

**SOLDIER Headquarters, somewhere in Shinra's sixty odd something floor scheme…**

Sephiroth banged the makeshift gavel down atop the surface of the plastic table to draw the attention of his less than intelligent comrades. Today, who cared if Hojo was out splicing cells and creating rampaging mutant chocolate bars, if Rufus was currently showering nude out on the front steps of the building in a gardening sprinkler, if that last sandwich in the revolving cafeteria display case had been sold yet. Today, none of that mattered, for there was a real crisis at hand.

"Gentlemen," the silver haired general addressed his troops. "It has been brought to my attention that- Angeal, your pet is eating the pencil erasers again."

Zack looked up sadly, trying to hide the pencils behind his back.

"What! I can't help it they're cherry scented! It's not my fault!"

"Angeal-"

The raven haired semi-stoic man dragged Zack across the room and threw him into the hallway.

"Bad puppy."

Sephiroth sighed, rubbing his forehead and wondering just where in the hell Lazard was at this hour. He was the one supposed to be holding the daily SOLDIER Crisis Corner Meeting. But so far, all they had found of him had been a discarded hairclip and what appeared to be a paper valentine's card written in foreign handwriting unidentifiable as either human, mutant, or some sort of strange twisted animal.

Angeal reclaimed his seat and balanced the chair onto its hind two legs to listen to what their 'self proclaimed' leader had to say.

"Alright. Now that I have your undivided - Are you reading _Gone with the_ _Wind?_"

Genesis flipped Sephiroth the middle finger and continued to page through the thick book balanced atop his knee. The silver haired general blinked in shock.

"Where's _LOVELESS_?"

"I don't want to talk about it." The chestnut haired man responded curtly. Sephiroth backed away - slowly.

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it. Now, as I was saying - oh for the sake of Gaia! What in the hell is he doing here!"

Angeal jumped to his feet and grabbed a leash, turning towards his lesser ranked SOLDIER in training, only to trip over a blond haired infantryman.

"You know. Just forget it. I'm going to go get that sandwich."

"But, Sir, what about the Turks?"

The silver haired general flipped through the envelopes on the desk until he found one with his name on it that looked semi-important-ish. He reached for Lazard's patented stiletto shaped letter opener.

"They'll humiliate themselves, give up, go home, and eventually realize they cannot surpass the coolness of-" Sephiroth's words trailed off as he read over the letter. "Oh come on. Yep. We _have_ to kill them now."

"What's wrong Seph?"

Angeal read over the letter that was pressed in his face, eyes wide in horror.

"But Sir, we've tried every unconventional, unethical, superficial, illegal, off the wall, out of the books, across the ceiling method of killing these guys, and so far, nothing works. It's like they're invincible…"

Sephiroth ground the letter opener into the surface of the desk and glared a lethal glare.

"We must not panic. We are SOLDIERs. We will deal with this like all SOLDIERs do."

"I have an idea-" the infantryman squeaked but was promptly knocked unconscious. Like they needed his measly opinion.

"Angeal-" The general commanded with the authority of an insane man. "Check and make sure the puppy didn't choke on a pencil and die in the hallway where humans walk. Genesis-"

He received another flip of the middle finger.

"Okay. You just stay there. I'll find someone to replace you. Dumb blond disposable infantryman. You get to be a pretend SOLDIER for a day. Gentlemen. Let's do this."

"But you never said what we are going to do?"

"That is for me to know, and for you to find out."

And so the SOLDIERs set off to wage war against the Department of Administrative Research without knowing what they were really up against.

**Somewhere in Sector One under a streetlamp on a street corner…**

They had finally realized, with a little bit of less than subtle hinting by one very flustered engineer, that the man they intended to assassinate really _was _as practical as they joked about, and spent the better part of the evening wandering around Midgar in search of the 'Kit-Kat Koffee, Krumpets, and Krescents' coffee shop nestled in a dark alleyway somewhere between the Jazz Hut and Oboe World.

"I don't mean to be a buzz kill, but did any of you three actually look up murder in the dictionary?" Reeve mumbled, trying to figure out just why a supposedly murdered, missing-in-action, female Turk might be at a coffee shop.

"Can it Jazz Boy," Vincent prodded the engineer forward against his will.

"But I don't like Jazz," Reeve protested. "I'm more of a contemporary country bandstand reggae rap hybrid kind of guy. They'll kill me in there!"

"It's a sacrifice we're willing to make. Take one for the team Jazz Boy."

Reeve cowered at the thought. Hadn't he already taken enough hits for the team?

Unfortunately, after 7:01 p.m. one must be in the presence of a known goatee growing beatnik look-alike, which meant, in a simple sense, they had to kidnap the unfortunate engineer and drag him with them to even get through the door.

Which they were still standing outside of.

"Alright Tseng," Reno withdrew a pair of binoculars and adjusted them to night vision mode despite the ample amounts of light, trying to spot the table which their traitorous leader might sit with said kidnapped and possibly murdered female Turk. "It's time to destroy you and protect our manhood."

**---**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Will Reeve ever have a mission he doesn't die on? Are Cissnei and Tseng talking about what Reno thinks they are talking about? Why _is_ Rude wearing a grass skirt? Will Sephiroth ever get his sandwich? And why is Genesis flipping people the bird every time someone asks about LOVELESS?**

**Tune in for this extra special 50th episode of One Hundred Tiny Missions folks to find out. You know you want to. ;) **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :)**


	50. Special Operation Tiki Torch

**Well folks, here we are at the halfway point of the missions. Yes, it took a while to get here, and there are a fun fifty yet to go, several of which you should be seeing in the next two weeks. Hopefully, this mission will live up to expectation and I look forward to entertaining ya'll for the next fifty. ;) Enjoy folks. **

**Special Operation Tiki Torch**

Reeve Tuesti had seen a lot of strange sights in his lifetime, but watching three grown men don mismatched camouflages consisting of fake ficus branches, nonnative raffia grass, and silk neon orange and pink petal flowers had to be the most bizarre he was ever going to. There was just something about a red headed, half nude, grass skirt clad palm tree look-a-like towering in the corner with a pair of binoculars in hand that screamed suspicious. And yet, no one seemed to take notice as they sipped their lattes and sought their wireless hotspots with the eagerness of children at Christmastime.

"See anything yet?" The red head continued to pan the binoculars over the crowded floor where a rather unusual karaoke competition seemed to be taking place between what looked like Heidegger and Palmer in drag, despite the distinguished lack of alcohol present. The man lounging beneath the windowsill with a floral crown atop his forehead and a spear in hand did little to make the engineer feel any more confident.

"Good god man, why are you three hiding in such ridiculous disguises again? You look like idiots." Reeve pretended to read the evening newspaper while Rude adjusted his shades and one again checked to ensure his own grass skirt was in style with the rest of the crowd starting some sort of weird ritualistic dance by the karaoke stage. Turks sure did pick strange places to go on nonspecific 'dates'.

"It's Sophisticated Nonalcoholic Frat House Tiki night. You're the one who looks weird." Reno stepped out of the way of a rather eye pleasing waitress who winked at him and continued to take her tray of lattes towards the non-themed section of the coffee shop where a group of businessmen had gathered to discuss stock quotes and stock in Shinra Corporation SOLDIER action figures. Reeve sighed.

"You'd be better off trying that section of the shop," he suggested. "Something tells me the people you're looking for won't be found in the general public."

"Nah. I think I see them." Reno retrieved his PHS from a location Reeve really wasn't certain it could even be kept. "Bushbuddy, get into position and ready to ambush."

Vincent raised an eyebrow and just shook his head while Rude struggled with his own PHS.

"Palmdude, I didn't copy that the first time."

"The pig is in the fire. I repeat. The pig is in the fire."

Vincent snatched the PHS from his bald companion and threw it at Reno. There was a reason they never let Reno lead any missions of great importance and now he knew why.

"Act professional. Now where did you see them?"

"You're no fun FernFizzer."

The stoic Turk stabbed his spear at the red head, frustrated that they were still letting the SOLDIERs pick their code names.

Reeve folded the newspaper and stood up, preparing to approach the table in question, exhausted by the insanity of the three men he had been kidnapped by.

"You three stay here. I'll take care of whatever your problem is."

Against his better judgment, the unfortunate engineer strode towards the far corner table, newspaper in hand, trying to think of a good excuse for disturbing his best friend on what appeared to be the one time he actually appeared happy on his 'date'.

**Exactly two minutes, eighteen seconds later…**

Reno held the binoculars up and focused on the two Turks exchanging what appeared to be almost casual conversation from the table in the far corner the engineer had yet to arrive at.

"What do you see?" Rude inquired out of curiosity. Reno once again adjusted the lens.

"I dunno yo. Wait a second. Oh dear Holy - Cissnei's actually smiling at something Tseng said."

Vincent and Rude paled and looked towards their red haired palm tree look-a-like. Smiling? Cissnei never actually smiled in _public_. Smirked maybe, but as for actual legitimate smile, no way in Hades. And the fact that oh-so-practical, boring Tseng might have said something humorous was downright disturbing, and unacceptable by male Turk standards.

"Guys. He's handing her a piece of paper and a pen. Uh oh. She's reading it."

"Can you see what it says?" Vincent inquired, for the first time in years unnerved by the prospect of paperwork that actually made their comrade smile.

"Dunno man. It looks like - Is he putting a hit out on us?"

Rude stiffened and adjusted his shades in surprise. Had Tseng seen through their plot to assassinate him tonight? Was he turning Cissnei of all people against them? For a moment, the three male Turks remained silent, pondering the thought.

"Oh dear Holy. It's worse than we think." Reno grit his teeth and used Rude as a tree to get a higher view.

"What now?" The bald one inquired, his heart racing as Tseng appeared to casually reach for a crescent.

"Since when does Cissnei drink black coffee?"

Rude dropped the red head onto the nearest table, frozen in terror. The truth was, they had never _seen_ her drink coffee, therefore in the big book of male Turk rules, the auburn haired female drinking coffee was equivalent to brainwashing, the culprit currently seated across from her.

"First he murders her and kidnaps her away from us, leaving cryptic clues in the form of moombas and mice covered in plastic. And now he's convinced her to partake of the sacred drink of perpetual normalness. This cannot be allowed men. We must rescue her before he brainwashes her into wearing a navy tie and black socks like him."

"But, her tie has always been navy and we all wear black socks." Rude adjusted his shades for the eighth time since they had set foot in the building. Vincent jabbed him in the chest with the blunt end of the spear to silence him.

"The sooner we rescue our damsel in distress, the sooner we can de-Tsengify her into becoming like us. Let's go." Vincent began leading the way, spear in hand.

A second spear drove his into the ground with a rattling click.

Vincent glanced up, crimson eyes narrowed at the emerald ones of the silver haired general staring down at him.

"This luau isn't big enough for the two of us Valentine."

"Sephiroth." Just what had inspired the three SOLDIERs and an infantryman to don similar disguises was beyond him.

"Oh good. So you do know why I'm here then. That will save time."

The stoic Turk parried the spear and glared, watching Reno and Rude exchange glances with Angeal and the poor unfortunate confused Zachary Fair. The blond haired infantryman tried to creep away but found himself on a leash.

"Yo. We gotta stop him before he completes the evil brainwashing deed that will make her his equal!" Reno jabbed Vincent in the arm and started to run with Rude at his side.

"Wait," Zack scratched his head with a look of mild surprise at the two Turks in the corner. "They're getting married? That's fantastic Angeal!" He bounded towards the table with a whoop of excitement, prompting the semi-stoic SOLDIER into action.

"No! Bad puppy! Heel! Sit! Stay!"

Sephiroth growled under his breath and watched the raven haired SOLDIER tackle the younger SOLDIER into the fruit bar and a wall of college students.

Vincent saw his opportunity and jabbed the spear at the unprotected keg of fruit juice stationed above the general's long silken silver mane - and all Hades broke loose.

In an ocean of purple berry guava orange, it cascaded down over the highest ranking of the highest.

"Curse you sticky bane of overworked soccer moms everywhere!" Vincent vaulted over the General as he clawed at his multicolored hair in frantic effort to salvage what little he could from the invasive substance crystallizing upon every stand. "Stop that half nude wanna be cannon character!"

A variety of bloggers began blogging immediately and snapping web shots with their high tech digital cell phones and cameras. Sephiroth made a move to follow, his boots slipping in the juice, sending his body crashing onto the floor.

Vincent leapt upon the topmost table and held the spear above his head with a shrill whistle of mockery to the fallen general.

"I am a cannon character, and unlike you, I get to be hot in CG animation for more than one scene!"

"At least I'm not optional for the main quest and left out of the ending!"

"Guys! Focus!" Reno shouted in exasperation, the wiry form of Zack tackling him into the karaoke singers in a battle that was going downhill fast. Rude darted across the floor in an effort to evade the hulking form of Angeal pursuing him in a menacing, somewhat disturbing manner.

"Fire!" Rude screamed, trying in vain to swat the flames consuming his grass skirt from the torch he had brushed against in the fall.

The infantryman cowered under a table and tried to chew threw his leash.

**In the far corner table, by the flowerbed…**

It was not often that Reeve Tuesti thought better of disturbing two lethal Turks who appeared to be having a rather interesting conversation amongst themselves.

"I'm telling you," the auburn haired female continued to read over the piece of paper the Turk seated across from her had given her earlier in the evening. "The boys won't like this one bit. I'm just not sure I'm completely comfortable with the idea yet."

"What's wrong with it?" Tseng sipped his coffee and momentarily pondered shooting the off key karaoke singer third to the left of the group that had taken stage. "I need to know your concerns before I do this to you."

Reeve raised an eyebrow and ducked into the closest unoccupied booth he could find.

"Well, Sir, with all due respect. I don't think the boys are taking my absence well."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," the auburn haired female sipped her cup of green tea. "They left my office in near perfect condition, except for the mouse. Someone wrote 'save the mice' across the top of it."

"You left it unattended? With them around?" Tseng nearly choked on his coffee, eyes wide with surprise as the nude form of a bald man leapt out of the flames to perform some odd, down right emotionally scarring dance similar to the hip hop limbo atop the stage while a familiar red head tried to assist him.

"Sir! Can we continue this meeting at a later day? In private? Where lesser morons cannot listen in. Reeve, we know your under the table. Stop touching my foot."

The engineer cowered against the infantryman who had sought shelter beneath the table.

The coffee cup exploded, showing both Turks in dark liquid and shards of porcelain.

Tseng reached for his pistol as the female Turk reached for her shuriken at the chaos erupting from the common folk section of the coffee shop.

**On the Stage…**

"You think you can defeat me Valentine," Sephiroth stood, multicolored hair singed by the fire caused by Rude's grass skirt, a grapefruit in hand, prepared to throw at the stoic, spear brandishing Turk facing him in battle.

The grapefruit soared through the air in a perfect arc.

"Ow!" Reeve staggered back, holding a palm over his eye. Several concerned bystanders dialed for an ambulance, and once again the engineer was hauled off to the ER with semi-life threatening injuries…

"What in the name of Chocobo Bill is going on here?" Tseng held the pistol aimed at the SOLDIERs while Cissnei brandished the shuriken at what remained of the Turks.

"Um," Reno crawled forward, kicking Zack in the nose. "Vegetarian's anonymous meeting?"

Cissnei rubbed her forehead in frustration to the three men lying in a dog pile atop the SOLDIERs, tea and coffee still dripping from her hair onto her blazer.

"Why do we even bother?"

Both Turks assisted the fallen nitwits to their feet, throwing a tablecloth to Rude who stood conveniently behind a fake tree in shame amid the whistles of fan girls pressing their faces against the windows outside for a better view.

"You're not brainwashed? But there was blood-"

"And a plasticafied mouse!"

Cissnei and Tseng exchanged looks as if daring one another to even try to answer the question. The female of the two threw the shuriken down in frustration.

"No you morons. My damn pen exploded and I had to go get another one from storage to finish the urgent paperwork that needed to be on Reeve's desk by 3:00. I was gone for five whole minutes. I knew I should have locked the door behind me."

"So you weren't kidnapped, murdered, and forced into slavery on some island somewhere?"

Cissnei and Tseng exchanged glances yet again. What was in that fruit juice?

"Okay, listen. Maybe we don't want to know what goes through your - For the love of Holy Rude, put something on. No one should have to see that. Now, as for - Vincent, Sephiroth, I'm going to tell Lazard. Stop chewing on my shoe!"

"Sorry," Zack scurried out of range.

"Just go home you three. I'll deal with it in the morning."

Meanwhile, the unfortunate infantryman scurried into the street and fell into a storm drain...

**Shinra Cafeteria, sometime after midnight that day…**

"I'm a SOLDIER Third Class!"

"Lousy. Stupid." Sephiroth kicked his fourth NPC SOLDIER third class out of his path that evening and stormed through the corridors, swearing and wondering just how in the hell he was going to get the fruit juice stains out of his majestic silver mane. Once again, those infamous menaces in the woolen suits had managed to get the best of his plot for fan fic domination.

"I'm a SOLDIER Third Class!" He paused for a moment in mid-kick, the SOLDIER wannabe landing with an ungraceful thud somewhere in the ventilation system of the upper floor. Couldn't they have been programmed to say anything cool for a change? He watched a gaggle of them march back across the same tiles in the same standard preprogrammed square and simply shook his head. It was no wonder the Department of Administrative Research laughed at them on a daily basis.

There had to be some weakness he was missing. Something that would devastate their numbers to something more manageable. And then he realized what needed to be done.

He pulled out his PHS, eyes narrowed and dialed a familiar number. Oh yes. The Turks would pay dearly for this one.

"Yes," he waited for conformation on the other line before proceeding. "I'd like to report a group of criminals to your organization. Uh huh. Yes. Shinra Building. Oh course I'll hold for the manager."

Thirty two minutes later, Sephiroth flipped the PHS closed with an evil smirk, for he was the evilest of the evil, the most dastardly of the dastards, the sinister of the sinister, head honcho of the evil bad guys club- and a few other things evil.

No matter what though, there was one thing on this miserable planet he knew he could count on, Turks aside to make the evil deed complete for an evil genius - The infamous midnight snack.

All he had to do was reach through the glass casing and -

Sephiroth pressed his hands against the glass in horror.

Someone had bought the sandwich.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Nothing says "I love you" like a trip to the ER at two in the morning for being an idiot...**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	51. Mission 51 Operation Superstition

**Friday the Thirteenth…Need I say more? Enjoy some of the superstitions that plague the Department of Administrative Research in this fun mini mission! :)**

**Mission Fifty One - Operation Superstition**

There were many superstitions in the Department of administrative research. For example, on Wednesdays, the Turk known as Rude did not wear socks. It wasn't that he did not like socks, he actually liked them quite well, it was just that if one wore socks on Wednesdays, there was a higher than average chance of being hit by a bus.

For the Turk known as Cissnei, it was the complete opposite. In her case if she even dared not to wear socks, holy forbid sandals, there was a greater than average chance or more so guaranteed, that in the following order, all Hades would break loose.

It would begin with the fiend known as Printer AB12 on the fifty seventh floor running out of magenta mango violet cartridge seven 12DS ink - the rarest ink cartridge on the planet and the only one capable of printing the index cards required to file mindless paperwork. No one knew just why that particular cartridge lasted only three hours on the best of days and the other two colors such as red indigo teal and lilac surprise lasted more than three-years. What was definitely certain though that the fact that once the ink cartridges ran out, one had to change them, which usually resulted in a very lengthy emergency room stay. Shortly after the release of the hospital it was a guarantee that no doubt the Turk known as Rude would be hit by a bus.

Reeve Tuesti always carried a banana in his lunchbox on Mondays, just in case on the off chance that he was ambushed, assaulted, and potentially murdered by a rabid spider monkey that somehow been imported from the wonderful island of Mideel. No one really asked questions as to why he bothered with it because he was probably going to die anyway due to an over stressful game of full contact solitaire that same afternoon. It was an engineer thing.

Tseng never hired anybody on Thursdays. Rumor had it that a Thursday was the day _he _had been hired and shortly after, a multitude of great, legendary problems had occurred. No one ever bothered to ask just why he hated Thursdays or what purpose they served in his younger life. But there had been rumors going around the Department of Administrative Research for years through the proverbial grape vines of wrath. Anything ranging from a bad pizza that had jumped off the table and nearly killed the unfortunate Veld, to a duel with pencils that had given Reeve that scar about his left ear.

All they knew of the truth though, was that on Thursdays, no one was interviewed, hired, or even sent for the traditional lunchtime pizza, and Tseng merely regarded any questions with a shifty eyed nervous look.

Therefore for the sake of their entire department, on Wednesdays, Rude did not wear socks and Cissnei made sure she always has a less than perfect match on her feet to ensure the feng shui of the department was not thrown into apocalyptic chaos; Tseng never conducted interviews on Thursdays; Reeve carried bananas on Mondays; and the creepy tech guy standing by the elevator merely stood at an odd angle, stalking the stoic Turk who's office had been placed too close for comfort.

Not that Vincent Valentine considered not having a restraining order and ten levels of facial recognition security cameras stationed upon the creepy tech guy superstitious. No. He was not afraid that someone might murder him on Friday because he wearing My Pretty Chocobo briefs because it was taboo to do laundry on Tuesday as required.

But, there was one Turk amongst them all, who was not superstitious of anything at all.

And his name was Reno Sinclair.

It began with a warning, or, more so correctly stated by the issuer of the tidbit of information as she gathered what remained of her briefcase and tried to salvage what she could of her tie and blazer upon rounding the corner and colliding with said menace in question, who had just as conveniently, for the eighth hundredth time this month, managed to spill coffee all over her paperwork.

"Stay out of the mailroom, avoid the elevator, try not to step on any cracks in the tiles on the first floor, and above all, do not make eye contact with the creepy tech rep on the stairwell." Words of wisdom before she dead bolted the door to her office shut until Friday the Thirteen was over.

He blinked and stared at the door as Rude crept in at an odd swagger.

"Hey Rude."

The bald man stiffened in alarm, holding a cross and flask of holy water out defensively.

"Dude. You have got to stop watching vampire movies yo. I know Vincent is a little kooky in the head, but right now, he's got a sandwich and a fruit juice box to keep him entertained."

"Not Vincent," the bald one grunted like a displeased, somewhat alarmed Neanderthal, adjusting his shades and looking from left to right before dropping to the ground and making like a SOLDIER across their corridor to his own office. A similar echo of deadbolts being activated deafened the hall.

"What's with everyone today yo?" He sauntered through the oddly silent hallway, finding Vincent's door locked, the rather pleased echo of someone enjoying a sandwich in the air. The flame haired menace wrinkled his nose in disgust over his comrade's eating habits. One couldn't pay him nor get him drunk enough to eat the last sandwich on the meal cart unless there was an infantryman there to test it for poisons and other amusement purposes.

Tseng rounded the corner with his pistol aimed at something behind him, moving the fastest Reno had ever seen him move for a man of his age.

His smirked and held a leg out, tripping the elder Turk.

The Wutainese man swore in his native language and gathered his briefcase in panic. Reno raised an eyebrow. He had seen Tseng worked up like this when evading a meeting with Palmer and the rest of the tribe, but usually, he recovered long enough to accept a mission. Something was wrong.

"It's Friday the thirteenth and you're not worried?"

Reno leaned against the wall with a casual gesture of his hand.

"Me? Worry? You know I'm not superstitious like the rest of you. What are you running from anyway yo?"

"Dark Nation," he replied and hurried towards his office. "It's everywhere today."

"Dark Nation?" Reno raised an eyebrow at what he had just heard from the leader of the Turks of all people. Mr. I'm Holier Than Thou and you will obey my commands, listen to my orders, and be tolerant of your other siblings who don't like you but have to be nice to you because their paychecks depend upon it, discriminating about something serious like this? "Man, you really need to lay off the coffee in Hojo's laboratory. It's starting to make you sound like an idiot."

Tseng halted in the doorway and pointed.

"It's behind you by the way. I suggest running for your life if you wish to live."

Reno turned to peer over his shoulder, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing at their leader. Turks. The same Turks who scared away telemarketers on a daily basis, gave infantrymen Indian burns, humiliated SOLDIER at will, made small animals flee in horror. Cloak and dagger assassins with lethal skills and a tendency to scare themselves at times when missions went right - were afraid of a fuzzy midnight black kitten sitting with its tiny paws pressed against the carpeted floor, golden eyes watching his every move with stiff whiskers twitching.

The door to the Turk Leader's office slammed and locked. Reno turned to the kitten with a broad smile.

"Hi there little guy. Why's everyone so afraid - Sweet Hades Holy Meteor Tango Dancing Chicobos Jenova SOLDIER! Not the face!"

All they heard was a horrific scream from the top of the stairwell as the theme from _Psycho_ began to play.

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Reno should never go through other people's lockers...**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	52. Mission 52 Operation Valentine

**Meh, not a very long mission today folks. Partially because the Muse is experimenting with shorter missions, and partially because well, she just doen't enjoy Valentine's Day in general, except for the candy. (I do appologize for the day late mission. My computer was being wonky about letting me upload stuff to document manager). So, while she spends today working on more fun missions for ya'll, enjoy this pleasant little mischief mission. ;) **

**Mission Fifty Two - Operation Valentine**

As all good little Turks knew, there were just some things one did not do on the one day of the year where all men were smitten with the impossible task of pleasing members of the opposite sex all in the hopes of asserting their manliness in front of the other jealous males, in hopes that they would eventually receive the impromptu invite for coffee and 'other' activities initiated by said females in question.

It was like standing at some freakish ritualistic cross between some sort of tribal counsel and the Bachelorette, mixed a little with the Chainsaw Massacre for added flair.

All Rude knew, was that he was seeing something that would go down in history as quite possibly, the most Youtubeable moment Shinra was every going to see.

"Yo, big guy. Give me a hand here." Reno struggled to pick the lock to the locker while balanced precariously atop the bald Turk's shoulders, face wrapped in gauze where he had been mauled by a 'helpless' demon kitten. Rude grunted in response.

"This is not a good idea."

"Enough with the psychic stuff yo. I know what I'm doing." He wiggled the piece of metal several times until he received a satisfied click and the tiny metal door swung open. Rude merely sighed.

"You do realize that this is equivalent to raiding a woman's purse right?" Again, a rather dire warning that no Turk ever ignored. From what they had heard of the legends passed down by Veld to Tseng, and then to themselves, a woman's purse was a sacred temple with a strict, 'No men' admittance upon penalty of death. They had seen the rule in action once when Katana had 'accidentally' tried to retrieve a pencil from Gun's purse while on an undercover mission in Sector Seven. Three phoenix downs later, eight elixirs, and two hundred potions later, no one had dared to ever touch any of the female Turks' belongings ever again.

"She won't mind."

Rude's glasses fell upon the floor as Reno jabbed him in the eye with an elbow, climbing further into the locker in search of what he sought. Apparently Reno had missed the lesson thereafter where, in the event that a female Turk did not carry a purse, their wallet became the proverbial purse, and if said female Turk was currently in possession of said wallet, then the locker became the proverbial temple of no return, and so on and so on until someone, always the male breaking the golden safety rule, died or was maimed for life.

"She's going to murder you for this. I heard she's been learning how to turn a simple pair of chopsticks into a weapon. Nearly took an infantryman's fingers off when he tried to steal her salad at lunch the other day."

Reno continued to sort through the youngest Turk's belongings.

"You know Rude, for a Turk, Cissnei's awfully boring. Her apartment is more exciting than this yo." He shoved aside a karate uniform neatly folded with a blackbelt folded atop it and reached for a small leather bag he could only assume was the closest thing to a purse she owned.

Rude's eyes widened in horror and he listened for footsteps in the hallway.

"Put it down. If she walks in here and sees you going through her personal belongings, she's-"

"Going to kill me, chop me up into little pieces, and feed me to Rufus's pet kitty cat. Got ya. Now," he opened the purse and began flipping through the collection of paperwork folded neatly and in place. "Let's see what mysteries of the universe will be revealed today."

"I'm warning you Reno. This is not a good idea at all."

"Rude, my man, didn't anyone tell you that you can learn a lot from a woman by the contents of their purse. Relax. If she catches us, we'll just blame it on Vincent. It's not like he's going to deny it."

"Vincent is at the Valentine's day ball, where we are supposed to be. He's got an alibi. We don't."

"Then we'll blame it on Fair. He's always getting into trashcans and stuff."

"She doesn't think he's smart enough to find this floor, let alone pick a lock, find a purse, and root through it in search of something that doesn't exist."

"I'm telling you yo, I saw it. Why wouldn't she carry it with her?"

"Because it's _the _list. Why do you care so much about who is on it and why?" Rude flinched as the red haired menace kicked him in the ribs, flipping through paper after paper.

"Because, if we find the list, we can learn what her and Tseng were discussing the other day at the café. Trust me. This is for her own good. That, and she was smiling after reading it the other day in her office."

"When you die, I'm not going to bury you. The chocobos can pick you apart for all I care."

Reno smirked, holding a piece of folded pink paper between his fingers. He dangled it in front of Rude mockingly.

"Found it. Now, let's see if my suspicions are correct-" Reno's eyes narrowed the more he read into the words. "I don't get it."

"Let me see." Rude reached for the piece of paper but was swatted away.

"I got this big guy. Who's DUOLC EFIRTS?"

At this, Rude dropped the red haired menace onto the cold tiled floor in disbelief.

"Who?"

"DUOLC EFIRTS," Reno replied, still puzzled by the letters on the piece of paper. "And a lot of other funky letters. Is it Wutainese? Did Tseng brainwash her into writing his language so they could exchange secret love notes? The plot thickens."

"Reno," Rude sighed. "This is a word scramble. It's not, the list."

"I dunno Rude. It could be that shifty eyed tech guy Cissnei glares at every morning."

The bald man checked his watch and snatched the piece of paper, trying to decipher the entire group of phrases written upon it. Trust a Turk to write a letter in code.

"I knew we should have bought that decoder ring."

"Holy Chocobos Bald Man! We need to go save her from this awful DUOLC EFIRTS before he catches a dance with her at the ball and ruins any and all chances of us proving our manhood. He's obviously planning something. There's X's and O's everywhere."

Reno bolted into the hallway, waving the piece of paper in the air and shouting like an idiot. Rude retrieved his shades and followed at a safe distance, not willing to associate with his about to be deceased comrade, which would then allow him to move up the manly totem pole.

The two Turks picked their way to the grand showroom, converted to a small, tasteful ball room, complete with sparkly hearts and pink and red ribbon everywhere. Reno slid to a halt, noting how Tseng and the secretary from the first floor exchanged interested glances.

"Um Reno."

"Not now Rude. I'm trying to find out which man is DUOLC EFIRTS."

He scanned the ballroom until he saw Reeve happily enjoying the female attention he was receiving for his eye patch while a group of dismal SOLDIERs moped by the punchbowl - Genesis absent from the group for unknown reasons Angeal watched Zack joke with Aerith about something only they could understand.

Sephiroth was nowhere to be seen either.

"Reno-" Rude once again tried to get his attention.

"I said not now. I'm trying to find a man."

Vincent snickered from beside them, paler than usual and lacking his usual wit and charm. Adjusting his tie, he leaned against the wall, content with merely watching despite his utter hotness and attractiveness to the opposite sex.

"To your right Reno." Rude directed, somewhat amused as Reno looked everywhere but.

"I'm telling you, whoever this DUOLC EFIRTS character is, is gonna-" His eyes widened and he nearly fainted as he turned the corner…

Only to see their auburn haired comrade in a plain, yet elegant blue _dress_, dancing, a _waltz _no less, with one very enthusiastic blond haired, blue eyed _infantryman _in a tuxedo, who merely regarded the stunned red haired menace with an impish smirk before escorting his date further into the crowd and leaving them to ponder just what they had seen.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**It came from the cafeteria…and it was angry…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : )**


	53. Mission 53 Operation Consultation

**Alas folks, we begin a new story arc in the missions (one of two actually). You'll enjoy it as poor Vincent suffers this round with his own group of rather 'personal' missions while the rest of the crew embarks on their own minor missions. Enjoy folks!**

**Mission Fifty Three - Operation Consultation**

It was to be the confrontation of a lifetime. Turk versus infantrymen. Right there in the center of the impromptu ballroom. Tseng sighed in embarrassment, uncertain of whether or not he desired to be associated with the two morons currently gaining all of the attention of the entire company for the untimely demise of a plate of cocktail wieners and what _used _to be a bowl of fruit punch.

There was just something about watching a lowly infantryman KO and repeatedly revive and re-KO the red haired menace that was almost painful to watch.

"I'm not-" Reno landed on the floor again as Cloud Strife, infantryman lower than snail dung, kicked him and stole his lone Hit Point yet again.

"Done-"

And again.

"Talking to-"

And again.

"You-"

And again.

Tseng sipped his cup of fruit juice and watched. He would have to ask his youngest Turk to hack the surveillance system later so they could submit the footage to Midgar's Finest Morons in hopes of winning the grand prize and paying their rent this month. If Reno continued to humiliate himself, they'd definitely beat the grass skirted Zack trying to grow French fries in Aerith's garden clip.

He didn't know what was sadder, the fact that he was watching a level 53 Turk of all things being beat up by a level 2 infantryman, or the fact that he saw monetary gain in such a fight. They were going to have to seriously level up by the time this was over.

The fight would have gone on forever, had it not been for the untimely crash of another such Turk to his right taking what appeared to be a valiant dive into the pink frosted cupcakes. Immediately, all eyes fell upon the moaning Turk covered in naked cherub sprinkles.

And the ambulance had to be called.

**Shinra General Mercy Hospital, 4****th**** floor, half of an hour later…**

Reno sat in the waiting room, arms folded stubbornly across his chest and glaring with the night nurse.

"Why do I have to be here. Cissnei and Rude didn't have to come!"

Tseng sighed and picked up another magazine depicting happy chocobos receiving vaccines.

"Because neither one of them do well around hospitals. We usually have to pry Rude out of the air vent and Cissnei usually scales the elevator before security can catch her."

Reno scowled and sat deeper into the seat, awaiting news of their unfortunate excuse for a comrade.

Vincent lay in the hospital bed, various smiley face stickers stuck to his forehead and clowns painted on the walls to 'cheer' up the unfortunate patients who happened to land in the rooms managed by one pleasantly happy Dr. Hojo.

The mad scientist turned creepy general practitioner strode into the room, whistling like the mad man he was, x-rays in hand and scalpel ready to stab.

"Wonderful news!"

Vincent sat up in bed in a hurry, immediately shouting in pain and clutching his stomach.

"I'm not dying? That's fantastic!"

Hojo blinked.

"I wasn't talking about you. You'll be dead by tomorrow. I finally got that dead mouse air freshener I sent for."

The stoic Turk paled and exchanged a look the madman. There was something unsettling about a doctor who preferred the scent of long dead mouse over pine and having 'fun' loving clowns on the walls of what was supposed to be a hospital wing.

"What in the hell do you mean I'll be dead by morning!"

Hojo placed the x-rays up on the backlit screen and rubbed his hands together in glee.

Vincent withdrew a pair of reading glasses from the pocket of his suit and put them on, staring at the x-ray, not amused.

"I don't see anything."

Hojo brandished the scalpel threateningly

"Idiot! You fail to see how wonderful this advance in science is."

"You just told me I'll be dead by morning! How can this be a good thing?"

"You have the first documented case of Sandwichitus there has ever been."

"Sandwichitus?" The stoic Turk raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I'm going to die because I ate a sandwich."

"Not, quite the opposite…"

Hojo rubbed his hands together in glee. That Evil Science Fair Trophy was going to be his this year. The judges would merely laugh at Hollander's automatic windshield wiper pancake flipper robot puppy pencil sharpener. And he had Vincent Valentine to thank for it.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Tseng gets the golden ticket of a lifetime, but at what cost?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	54. Mission 54 Operation Fly the Coop

**Whoa. Well folks, the Muse is actually inspired as of late and has been managing to write almost a whole mission a day! Whoot! Anyway, enjoy this fun chapter folks. **

**Mission Fifty Four - Operation Fly the Coop**

It was the golden ticket of all golden tickets. The Holy Grail of all Holy Grails.

For a moment, Tseng sat behind his desk, clutching the piece of paper as though it was about to vanish and looking towards the sky in a chorus of thank yous to the almighty being who had heard the cries of a poor, unfortunate overworked and underpaid Wutainese leader of the Turks.

He'd waited more than eighteen years for this moment and there was absolutely nothing on Gaia that was going to take it away from him.

"So, when are you going to tell them?" Reeve dared to inquire, a stack of paperwork in hand and a secret sense of genuine respect that Tseng had done what no Turk in history had been able to do.

"If I can help it, when I'm dead."

"What if they start to get suspicious?"

"Yo boss," Reno poked his head through the doorway in his usual flamboyant fashion. "When the auto flush toilet starts making this sort of funky gurgling sound is that a good or bad thing?"

Tseng sighed and nudged the piece of paper under the dust covered sudoku puzzle book that had laid dormant for months due to his subordinates' unceremonious methods of driving him insane with paperwork. The last person he wanted to see the piece of paper was the red head who would no doubt find some way to jinx it.

"Reeve, you do not know how badly I need to get out of this place. I'm about to go show a grown man how to plunger a toilet."

He needed this vacation week in the worst way.

**Twenty two minutes later…**

Having instructed Mr. Sinclair in the finer art that a plunger was not meant to be stuck to the bathroom mirror and used as a really cool jumping off point, Tseng sat down in his chair and watched the clock tick by at a lazy drawl. Only two more hours. He could manage that. Pending no crossdressing SOLDIERs from the upper floor wandered in that was, or Rufus did not get himself caught in the revolving door to his father's office again.

Tseng still wasn't certain just why it was their problem that the lad could not handle a simple, constant forward motion, only to get scared at the last second and end up walking an equivalent of 800 miles until someone finally rescued him from revolving door hell.

The door crept open with a rattling screech and the fountain pen went flying in surprise.

"Sir," Rude adjusted his shades with that all knowing presence about him. "Is it true you're putting Reno in charge for a non-disclosed amount of time?"

Tseng stiffened, a prickling nervousness gracing the back of his neck in panic. If they found out he was going on his first vacation week in fifteen years, they would find a way to screw it up. An opportunity like this arose once in a lifetime for a Turk, and for the leader of such a group, it was like winning the lottery. He retrieved his pen and faced the bald Turk, pretending to be heavily engrossed in a Lightweight Sudoku puzzle.

"I-er," he mentally flipped through all of the excuses that none of his over helpful subordinates might take upon themselves to investigate and solve. "It's, a, how do I say this without sounding like I don't have a good excuse - personal reasons."

"He's got the plunger stuck to the top of Reeve's desk and is pretending he is an 'exotic' dancer. I hope you have a good reason why he is the right person to lead."

Tseng shuddered, wondering if the image was ever going to leave both his mind and whomever else was unfortunate to witness it. He could hear Reeve begging for mercy and the sound of SOLDIERs catching wind of such a feat taking place two floors down from them.

What ever did happen to that poor AVALANCHE member who had been missing since December?

"I assume you have a suggestion or you wouldn't be in my office about it."

Rude scratched the back of his neck almost nervously.

"Well, yes. There are thumbtacks that can lead better than Reno. Surely myself and Cissnei could handle it."

"Cissnei's got her own problems. Lady problems."

Rude's glasses fell from his face in shock. Tseng really had a death wish to leave them with a creature capable of massacring them all if lady problems meant what he thought it did. And last time he checked, the sacrificial offering of chocolate had been eaten by one very intimidating black kitten.

"Sir-"

"If this wasn't important, I wouldn't bother even leaving the department in the hands of Turks. But rest assured, I have good reasons." Yeah, and in two hours his flight was going to be en route to the best week of his life.

"What about Vincent and I?"

"Vincent's in the hospital until further notice. It's you and Reno then. I would entrust it to Reeve, but he tends to end up near death every time he walks outside."

"But, where are you going?" He was really starting to wonder about his subordinates. It was like leaving a bunch of misunderstood, helpless puppies in an apartment of fine china and expecting them to behave.

"If you must know," he wracked his brain for a good, manly excuse to make himself look decent. "My dear mother is ill."

"With what?" The very idea that Mama Tseng could be weakened was a strike of surprise.

"She's-er, sick. With the Koi fever. Very bad illness. Only fish farmer get it when they've been watching Koi swim all day. Everything gets slimy and turns to scales. Unless you really want to scrub boils all day of course. I could always stay here and send you instead." He threatened. Holy be damned someone was going to ruin his vacation plans.

Rude backed away slowly, memories of the cane-wielding Mama Tseng vivid. And that was when she was 'healthy'. Tseng mentally smirked. It was working. There was no way they would follow him now. Reno would cringe and hide at the idea.

Worst case scenario, he could always lock the overly caring short one in the broom closet and run like Hades.

He tucked the soduko puzzle under his arm and strode towards the doorway. It wouldn't hurt to cut out a little bit early today.

**Hallway…**

He had made it past the creepy tech guy guarding the elevator without incident, rounded the corridor past the evil wing of receptionists, dodged most of the obstacles that could potentially delay his vacation, left Rufus Shinra in the revolving door, and reached the first floor when it appeared out of nowhere.

"Man buddy!" Tseng swung the soduku puzzle book up in defense as the loose gender Director of SOLDIER appeared out of literally, nowhere, dressed in his usual pinstripe attire and glasses polished to perfection. "Leaving early?"

"As a matter of fact-" he struggled to escape the SOLDIER's grasp, panning the room for any rogue fan girls who might get the wrong idea. "I've an important errant to attend to. Very important."

"Is that so? Maybe I can help in some way. You look stressed."

Tseng pried his talon like fingers off of his shoulder with a grimace. Someone had to tell the man that hand cream was not the staple of the manly world of Shinra. It just made filing paperwork bearable.

"No. No." He responded, a bit too quick for his liking. "I got it. Family emergency. My dear mother is ill."

Lazard clapped his hands together in concern. Tseng managed to gain a few strides of distance.

"Oh how tragic! I'll go with you. I know a few remedies for sick family members."

So I can see, Tseng thought to himself and once again brandished the soduku puzzle in front of him.

"As my 100 percent traditional Wutainese cultural icon of a stereotypical father would say," he closed his eyes in defeat, trying to look as humble as possible. "This secret mission. Eldest son travel home, pick lots of elderberries. Pick berries until dawn. Then pick more. Boil berries. Make ancient special Wutainese family cure-all potion. Help on farm for days. Bring honor. Then, once earn honor. Come back to Shinra as new man. That answer anything you were about to say Director?"

Before waiting for an answer, he turned and sprinted for the doors, timing it just right to allow him to sneak past a returning group of wounded infantrymen and into the awaiting taxi.

"Where too?" The cab driver flicked his cigarette out the window as the Turk took a seat.

"Shinra International Airstrip. There's an extra six hundred gil in it for you if you can get me there without a caravan of idiots following me."

The cab driver raised an eyebrow. AVALANCHE didn't pay him half as much to do the same job.

**Some random airplane, some time later.**

He sipped his wine and reclined in the airline chair, sudoku puzzle across his lap and tie loosened. Now he could finally begin to unwind from all of the stress of fifteen years or longer worth of hellish chaos that had turned him into an old man well past his prime. He glanced down at the piece of paper tucked into the pages as a bookmark.

Two wonderful Turk-free weeks in Modeoheim, the one place they would never look for him, he hoped. Everything was in order. Assignments given out. A leader chosen. His eyes narrowed at the date circled on the piece of paper. There was something oddly familiar about it. Something he was forgetting that was incredibly important.

He paled and sat up straight. He, the taboo wary being that he was, had done the unthinkable.

He had hired someone on a Thursday.

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Life without Tseng. What could possibly go wrong?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	55. Mission 55 Operation Sticky Note

**Oh dear. Sorry about the lack of updates over the past two weeks. The Muse spent that time away from the computer due to an illness. Also, there probably won't be any updates for a while while she recovers. That said, allow me to introduce the Office Supply Arc while the Vincent Arc will be taking place. (Hey, who hasn't gone into an office supply store and that one item is always sold out?) Enjoy folks!**

**Mission Fifty Five - Operation Sticky Note**

Their day began in the typical fashion, Reno rounding the corner at full gallop, mane billowing in elegance unbefitting of a man, in an effort to claim the last bagel while Rude made a valiant effort to outpace him. Leaping desks and swiping their keycards through random checkpoints, the receptionists just shook their heads at the display of desperation. Another fine Thursday morning in the Department of Administrative Research.

Reno's green eyes narrowed and he swung the EMR out to strike the bald one at his side. Rude countered it and kicked him in the knee. Today, there was no mercy. For today, the daily bagel of choice was plain with pineapple cream cheese. A feat more rare than a flash of Hojo's sanity.

"Back off bagel hog!"

"Like you need more energy!" Rude swore, shoving Reeve into the wall and stopping to help the poor man to his feet.

"Good god man. Tseng's only been away for less than twelve hours and you've already devolved into Neanderthal Monkey men!"

"Ha!" Reno stuck his tongue out and took a flying leap into the lounge. "See what being nice gets you Rude!"

He reached for the last remaining bagel, and overshot the landing, crashing into the cabinet.

"Hey guys," Cissnei did not even look up from the morning paper as her two comrades wrestled one another for the last bagel.

"Morning 'She who betrays her fellowmen at will by dating an infantryman.'"

She folded the newspaper crisply and glared from her spot on the couch by the window.

"Says the man who I caught making out with the mop the other day. So, Reno, just how is 'Juliet' this week? I heard she's stepping out with the janitor more than normal."

Reno took a bite of the bagel with a glare.

"Rude! Cissnei's picking fun at a misunderstanding! Make her stop."

The bald man exchanged a look with the engineer and sighed. Perhaps he never should not have volunteered to be in charge.

"Both of you, stop it. Please!"

The auburn haired female got up and tossed the paper onto the table, little black book in hand.

"Alright. Look. I'll let you boys to your 'man' time. Tseng left you a list of things to do this week by the way. If you need me, I'll be somewhere in Midgar out of PHS range, so don't bother trying to get a hold of me."

She strode off towards the elevator, leaving the two Turks and an engineer standing with a second little black book upon the table marked 'Simple Missions'.

Reno reached for the book, but Rude cut him off with a grunt of territorial warning. Reeve backed away slowly, looking for sharp objects that might impale him by accident.

"Dude, this is not cool."

Rude dusted off his shades and read over the first of Tseng's many orders, shoving his red haired menace of a comrade out of the way.

"Post it notes. He wants us to refill the post it note dispenser…"

Reno plopped down upon the couch.

"What a lame mission. Reeve. You can have that one. What else do we got?"

Rude flipped through the little black book, the pages rattling the air.

"Sharpen pencils. Dust the bookshelf. Sweep the floor." Reno grabbed the little black book.

"Be serious yo. Tseng's counting on us to-" His eyes widened. "Realphabetize the filing cabinet. These mission suck! Where's all the kill this, destroy that, hack 'em slash 'em cloak and dagger ones?"

Reeve peered out of his office.

"Tseng was afraid to let you alone with sharp objects. Now, if you don't mind, there is a desperate shortage of post-it notes that needs to be remedied ASAP."

The red haired menace rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Let's go be secretaries for a day Rude."

The bald one's shoulders slumped in defeat.

**Clip and Snip Office Supply Depot.**

It was not often one saw a Turk in an office supply store. That job was usually delegated out to the lowest ranking creature calling the Department of Administrative Research's hallway home at the moment, mainly Reeve Tuesti, head engineer.

But as Reno and Rude navigated the kiosk of paperclips to find the "You are Here" sign in the center of the store, they began to realize that they might actually have respect for the poor man. That, and if anyone could find anything in under four hours, it was a new record by anyone's standards.

"Where did Reeve say they were again?"

Rude checked the list.

"Aisle PIN37. Third shelf from the right."

"Like hell. Alright. I'm asking someone." He sauntered up to the nearest associate he could find and trapped them on the shoulder. "Hey baby, do you know where I can find passion pink-"

He froze, mid sentence, the female store clerk glaring at him and tossing her dark black hair over her shoulder. Rude ducked behind a laser printer to keep from laughing.

For a moment Turk and clerk remained staring at one another, the latter about ready to flee for his life. It was one thing to catch Sephiroth under cover, but this was something not even in the books.

"Oh my god it's the Turkies…"

"Er, Tit-I mean Ti-" A fist caught him under the jaw, sending him crashing into a pile of dancing chocobo binders. Rude moved to scurry out of range, but the martial artist was in front of him in a split second, brandishing a ruler at him in warning.

"What are you perverts doing here anyway?"

Rude adjusted his shades, trying to ignore the semi-revealing red vest over the blouse.

"Post-its." He managed to stutter, blushing a deep shade of red. "Pink ones."

"Aisle PIN37. That way." Her eyes narrowed, directing him towards the other end of the store.

"T-thanks." He bolted down the aisles. Reno picked his way out of the pile of binders, grinning like an idiot.

"So, babe, can I finally have your number?"

A heel struck him across the face, Tifa storming away.

"When the restraining order expires in ten million years."

**Aisle PIN37**

"Passion Pink 102. Passion Pink 103." Rude pulled out the little black book, holding the last remaining Post-It note up to compare to the sections of reds, pinks, and magentas. "Passion Pink 104. Anything close Reno?"

"Nah, just a bunch of everything but." He climbed up several shelves and picked through a bunch of reds. Why did it have to be Passion Pink of all colors? Why?

"We'll just try over-" Rude pointed, crestfallen at the empty space labeled Passion Pink Plain.

"We've died and gone to Post-it note hell…" Reno paled, staring at the endless corridor of thirteen million different brands, colors, shapes, sizes, and other post it notes, none of which were Passion Pink. "Damn it."

"It's okay Reno," Rude patted the red haired menaces shoulder to consol him. They would just have to settle for powder pink instead.

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Why is Vincent so paranoid?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	56. Mission 56 Operation Paranoia

**Behold folks, another filler micro mission for your entertainment. It's not the best mission I've ever written (I didn't feel too terribly keen on putting too much time into it due to health problems), so it's quite possibly the worst. If you don't like it, I won't mind. I'll do better next time. Promise! Enjoy folks!**

**Mission Fifty Six - Operation Paranoia**

It was not often Vincent Valentine raided the stores of Krispy Krèmes stashed away in Hojo's laboratory. Truth be told, he hated the donuts with a passion. He hated them even more than community bagel day up in the Turk Lounge. But there was just something about those circular sirens of seduction that continued to call his name for the better part of three hours.

And they had orange frosting with little alien sprinkles. Vincent nearly salivated at the thought. For some oddball reason, Chaos was egging him on to go on and sell his soul for a donut today. It wasn't like Hojo was all _that_ evil…

The stoic Turk backed away instinctively, red eyes scanning the area for boobytraps and hidden fan girls. Someone had leaked information about his favorite snack. One of his hotness caliber could never be too careful when the ever present threat of being tackled, squealed at, and otherwise glomped by hormonal females was always the highest priority of threats that could take him out of the fic for months.

He grabbed donut with super cool Turk reflexes and fled for his life.

Hojo clicked his pen and withdrew a recorder from his front lab coat pocket from behind the stone pillar with the cobwebs strewn about it.

"Stardate 672. Subject has a selected the elusive Krispy Krème as his drug of choice. Now. We stalk him and wait for results."

Somewhere around the first floor elevator, Vincent halted, donut clutched protectively in hand and trying to catch his breath. The receptionist raised an eyebrow.

"Rough morning hun?"

"You have no idea Fran." She handed him a cup of coffee and he slid into the elevator, tie billowing in the wind. He kicked the floor button with his toe and breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator began its trek upwards to a Hojo-Free zone.

**Department of Administrative Research Floor…**

Vincent stepped out of the elevator into the silent hallway in mild surprise. Where was all the squabbling, kicking, biting, hair pulling and taunting? His eyes narrowed, thinking for a moment that he might have fallen through a time warp somewhere between the hospital ward, Hojo's laboratory of little horrors, and the elevator ride.

He reached for Death Penalty and ensured it was loaded, just in case the fan girls had raided the place first.

"Good god man," Reeve held the binder up defensively. "Can we have a day where someone doesn't try to kill me?"

Vincent lowered the weapon in mild surprise. Of course the fan girls would let him live. He was Reeve and had not yet reached the qualifying level at which one could acquire fan girls of his own.

"Where are they hiding!" He grabbed the engineer by the scruff of his blazer. "What did they do with my comrades?"

Reeve blinked in confusion. This was not like Vincent. He was behaving rather oddly indeed.

"Where have you been man? Tseng's on vacation for a week. Cissnei's at an undisclosed location on an undisclosed female oriented sort of mission. And the boys are at the Shinra Office Depot looking for Passion Pink Post Its."

Vincent released the poor man and leaned against the wall, sweating.

"Oh."

"Hey, is that a Krispy Krem-Ow!" Reeve whimpered and retreated at the stoic Turk's clawing motion towards him. "Okay. Okay. I'll get my own."

"I'm dying of Sandwichitus damn it. I need all the sweet nurishing goodness I can get!"

"Sandwichitus? And yet you eat something that's been sitting on a lab table all morning long." Reeve shook his had and reached for the stapler he had dropped. "I'll never understand some things in this company."

"He's being too nice for a change," Vincent chewed on the donut and sipped his coffee, eyes shifty at the thoughts of Hojo being super nice to him all of a sudden. "Something's not right."

**Somewhere, in a dark, dreary lab under Shinra's Headquarters...**

"Could you please stop touching me?"

"Be quiet. I need to appear evil." Hojo sat at his computer, stroking the miserable plush Cait Sith. The monitor's light reflected in his bottle cap glasses and greasy hairdo. "Yes."

The image of Vincent enjoying the donut appeared on screen.

"Enjoy that donut young Turk. For there shall be many more. Hollander will be begging to accompany me to the Mad Scientist Society Meetings when I am done with this experiment."

He leaned back in his chair with a horrible screechy laugh, the chair toppling backwards into row of vials and test tubes.

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Behold the return of an old foe…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill **


	57. Mission 57 Operation Interview

**Hey there folks! Please don't mind the Muse, she's slowly trying to get back into writing the missions after a longer than usual Haitus over health concerns. So if the missions are a bit lacking, that's what's going on and I'll try my best to remedy the issue ASAP. Until then, try to enjoy this one folks.**

**Mission Fifty Seven - Operation Interview**

There was something about newbies that made even the most respectful, level headed, and brave Turk flinch it utter terror. In a way, it was like watching a baby bird learn how to fly while a bunch of cats made a casual circle at the base of the tree, waiting for said bird to screw up and land in front of them. Only this time, the proverbial bird in question was driving a certain watchdog insane.

Cissnei tossed the clipboard and packet of accident forms onto her desk with a grumble of annoyance. Of all missions she could have been sent on, it just had to be this one. She took a pen out of the drawer and began writing down the results of her mission, only to find it out of ink. She swore in defeat.

"Something wrong?" Reeve peered into the office in a cautious manner for fear a certain shuriken might strike him. The auburn haired Turk rested her forehead on the desk surface.

"Do me a favor Reeve. Next time a mission like this threatens my intelligence, make sure you throw Vincent and the others to that rabid fan girl club by the fountain."

"That bad eh?"

"You have no idea."

**Earlier that day, Cissnei's office, 8:00 A.M.**

There was something about near complete, total silence in the Department of Administrative Research that hinted of a day about to go to hell rather quickly. No squabbling, squawking, hitting, kicking, punching, and otherwise Neanderthal male behavior since six o'clock. The female Turk sighed and flipped through the minor novel-length binder of missions in various stages of completion. Peace, such a rare state of mind.

Until she looked down at the folder balanced at the edge of the desk.

She quickly checked the little black book of appointments, horrified at what she found.

"Not today. Holy, not today damn it." For a moment she considered admitting defeat and phoning the boys to switch missions. After all, how hard could it be to find Passion Pink Post It notes?

"Hello?" Cissnei cringed at the sound of another human being entering her office this early in the morning.

"Be with you in a second," she replied, flipping through the book in mild horror. Too late to back out now. "You're who again?"

The sound of a person taking a seat before the desk caught her attention. Heels? Who in the right mind wore heels to a Turk interview? She sighed and closed the book, fishing the application folder out of the pile. Tseng was going to pay dearly for this.

"So, you want to work for us for what reason again? Have we not embarrassed ourselves enough in your presence?" She sifted through the paper and adjusted her reading glasses in an effort to appear to be in control of the situation.

"I figure it will make a good fan fic to be on the inner workings of the Turks-"

Cissnei raised an eyebrow as the blond rambled on about why she wanted to be a Turk. What exactly had Gun told her anyway? Then again, it was what she had not told her that concerned her. That particular Turk had a knack for seeking and getting revenge for the littlest things and the haunting words of 'Just you wait until I get my revenge' played through her mind. Ever since Katana had 'accidentally' put hair dye in the spiteful blonde's shampoo they had all waited and taken bets on how revenge would appear.

The female Turk sighed. She was out ten gil to Tseng over this one.

"Elena is it?" Her pen halted at the name on the application.

The blond nodded and tapped the toe of her ruby red shoe against the floor annoyingly.

"Okay, so, what exactly qualifies you to work with us?"

"Well, I have a broad background with fan boys and the Reno/everything shippers union."

Cissnei began writing everything down and checking it against the paper Tseng had left her. Oh, he was going to be a dead Turk if this went through.

"Fan boys? We have a problem with fan girls, not fan boys. And we have restraining orders against the shippers."

"I can handle them."

Cissnei stopped writing and looked up at the blonde.

"No, you can't. You have to be level 100 to even approach them. You saw what they did to the boys at the craft store."

"I am level 100."

"No, you are not. And I can prove it. Trust me, you do not want me to have to prove it."

The blond fidgeted nervously in her seat as the auburn haired female began checking boxes on the form and rereading what was written by Tseng. The sooner this female was out of her territory, the better.

"Okay. Now I gotta go make copies of this so Reeve can evaluate you later. Stay here and don't touch anything."

The blond stood up and took the paper.

"I can do that."

"No." The female Turk growled, seizing the paper with one hand and reaching for the shuriken with the other. "I'll make the copies. The last thing Tseng needs is for the newbie to end up maimed, dead, or worse while he's away."

**Ten minutes later…**

Everything had happened so fast. Elena, as she was to be known as, seized the papers from Cissnei's hands without thinking, and wandered aimlessly into the dark room where it lurked after a rather curt argument about the dangers of office supplies.

Cissnei leaned against the door, cringing as the agonizing howls of pain erupted from within the small room and did something she would, under better circumstances, consider cruel and beneath her doing.

She locked the door and waited. Let the newbie learn the wisdom for herself.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Something odd is happening at Shinra…**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill**


	58. Mission 58 Operation Draft a Plan

**Hey there folks. I'm slowing working my way out of this funk of lackluster missions and you can definitely expect better ones after this one. The update schedule will probably consist of alternating weeks for upload of my fics, with missions being one week, and my other fic the next. Thanks for the support and hope ya'll enjoy this fun mission. **

**Mission Fifty Eight - Operation Draft a Plan**

It was half past three when Reno and Rude staggered into the lounge, packets of the wrong color Post It notes in hand to a sight that would have terrified most normal people.

"Oh Holy Meteor pancakes," he began to back away. "Not you again."

Rude adjusted his shades in mild amusement as Reno slowly backed away, scouring the room for any sign of their auburn haired companion to fill in the details of just why there was a somber blonde sitting on the couch with an icepack over her left eye and what appeared to be an invasion of band aides over various battle wounds clutching a worn phoenix down tightly in her fist.

"Great," her eyes narrowed. "You two again."

Rude examined the pattern of injuries and chose to remain silent. She had encountered Cissnei all right. As to what hellish torment she had driven their comrade to was a mystery.

The blonde flinched at the bruises and swollen side of her face.

"You people are the most god awful people-" she looked around in panic, cowering in terror as though someone was about to throw a certain shuriken in her direction.

Reno snickered and froze as her blue eyes fell upon him. "So, what'd ya do to tick 'Nei off?"

Rude shot his companion a glare of warning as he struggled to find a safe distance from the woman who had made their lives difficult many times over on their missions, uncertain of whether or not to even begin to try to explain what they were thinking. Gun really did have a twisted sense of humor.

Elena sighed and tried to keep herself composed before the two males of the group.

"That little red haired witch _locked _me in the room with the most satanic piece of office equipment known to man."

At this, Reno and Rude exchanged glances, each daring the other to refrain from laughing at the idea. Surely their comrade would never do such a thing to a newbie.

"Er- whatever your name is-"

"Elena."

"_Right_." Reno draped an arm over Rude's burly shoulder and guided him towards the door. "I gotta discuss something with my man."

Rude grunted to acknowledge his comrade steering them out of range of the pathetically leveled newbie.

"Reno, what are you-"

"This could be it big guy. Think of the possibilities."

"Possibilities?"

"Yeah. Think of the chick points we could be scoring because of this one."

"Chick points?" Rude asked, having no idea what Reno had in mind.

"You know, points that will eventually lead us to total male domination of the group."

"But we're an equal opportunity employer."

Reno peered over his shoulder and dropped to a lower tone of whispers.

"Think of it like a wild pack of dogs. The alpha males will meet, shake hands, and go to the bar where they become the best of pals. The alpha females aren't like that at all."

Rude adjusted his shades and pretended to be interested.

"Since when do you know anything about alphas?"

"Since I saw that 'Nei's job is threatened by the newbie. Think about it Rude. Tseng brings in a new female. Next thing you know we're all wearing Hello Kitty ties, painting out fingernails pink, and wearing sparkly belts to reconnect with our feminist sides. Best case scenario, we end up like Genesis and his LOVELESS obsession…Worst case, we end up dating Lazard."

"Dear lord."

Reno smirked and picked up a pot holder to prove his point. "I have a plan though to help keep the balance of male testosterone in order. Just follow my lead big guy."

He turned back to Elena.

"Alright, let's make a deal," Reno held the potholder like a little shield should the she decide to spring from the couch and murder him. "You stop tangling with our missions and we'll teach you how to coexist with 'Nei."

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Rufus wants them to do _what_?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	59. Mission 59 Emergency Mission

**Hi there folks. Well, the Muse is starting to feel a lot better than she did, and I'm actually motivated to pick up the missions and my other fic and actually try to update. I'm currently experimenting with short missions that lead into another one. I hope you all find them at least humorous to some degree. Enjoy folks!**

**Mission Fifty Nine - Operation Emergency Mission**

It had started with the caterwauling being known as Rufus Shinra storming into the Department of Administrative Research's hallway with a rather interesting steel cage-like carrier under one arm and a piece of paper in the other.

"I need a Turk. Now."

At those words, the echo of locking office doors filled the air behind an edge of panic that spread from Reeve's office to Cissnei's, catching Reno and Rude's somewhere along the way.

"Why are you locking the doors?" Elena inquired somewhat politely as Cissnei and Reno practically barricaded the office door against the blond haired menace in the hallway.

"Don't ask questions," Reno warned, reaching for the EMR at his side should Rufus manage to get past the door. "You'll find out later when sir whine-a-lot leaves."

"But that's rude."

"Rude locked his door already. We get caught, it's going to be a rough morning."

"It can't be that bad," the blonde responded matter of factly, and unlocked the door.

Rufus barreled into the office at near full gallop, the ominous cage rattling and hissing in response.

"Thank Jenova. I have an emergency mission for you." Tears swept down his face pathetically for his age. Cissnei tapped her pen against the table, momentarily considering throwing it at the woman who had made a situation much worse than it could get.

"What do you need Sir?"

The cage struck the desk, unsettling the rock garden with its growling and hissing.

"It's Dark Nation!" He wailed. "Something's wrong with her!"

Cissnei and Reno exchanged glances. There was something wrong with it alright. Demon cats from Hades should not ever be kept as pets. Elena stepped closer to the cage, only to back away as a claw reached through and nipped her arm.

"What do you expect us to do about this Sir?"

Rufus's eyes lit up despite his tears in excitement.

"Take her to the vet! That's an order." He shoved the cage closer to the auburn haired female Turk and fled from the office.

"Sir, wait!" A claw once again reached through, nearly catching the fabric of her blazer. But, before he could respond, the future president to be was gone, leaving them with the cage.

Reno grabbed the EMR and pocked at the claws with a low hint of pallor to his skin.

"Um, 'Nei. Any ideas?"

Cissnei stepped away and reached for a protect materia as well as a sleep materia from the desk drawer.

"Don't open the cage," Her eyes narrowed at the terrified Elena cowering and nursing a scratched arm. "And this time you better listen to me."

**Fifteen minutes later….**

Three Turks and one in training sat around Cissnei's desk, watching the crate rattle and roar miserably, phone books in hand.

"Anything yet?" Rude inquired, skimming through the ten veterinarians who had hung up immediately upon hearing the name, Dark Nation.

Cissnei tossed the phone book across the room and flipped the PHS closed with a growl of annoyance.

"Nothing yet."

Reno sat up immediately with a whoop of excitement, his own PHS practically glued to his ear.

"Got one. Sector two Creepy, Crawly, Venom, Claws, and Fangs can see her in a half hour. Let's move out people. We have a psychotic excuse for a cute fuzzy kitten to save!"

----

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Lions, Tigers, and Turks oh my!**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	60. Mission 60 Operation Veterinarian

**Hey there folks. The Muse finally got another chapter written. Enjoy the update folks!**

**Mission Sixty - Operation Veterinarian**

It was the most interesting scene that anyone with a camera, video recorder, or cell phone could hope to experience. Three full fledged Turks and a Turk-in-training wresting an average sized steel carrier onto the public bus headed in hopes of arriving at a rather drab building bearing the words "Creepy, Crawly, Venom, Claws, and Fangs Veterinarian Service'.

"Explain to me why this is a good idea again?" Cissnei ducked out of range of a rogue paw as it nipped at her shirtsleeve with claws extended. Reno held the EMR at the ready, watching as one crimson glowing eyeball eyed him through the thin steel containing it.

"Um, 'Nei, about those Post-Its-"

She glared and struggled to keep hold of the crate as it rattled ominous and hissed at them all.

"Say one more thing about Post-its and you be the one to take this creature to the examination room."

Reno shrugged and searched for a vacant seat.

"I told you we should have brought that flask of Holy Water we use to keep Vincent out of the closet. But NO! No one ever listens to the sane one."

Rude merely grunted and held up a pair of falconing gloves as if to prove that he was not afraid of a cute fuzzy kitten. Cissnei grumbled under her breath and glared at Elena.

"Golden Rule Number One. When Rufus stalks a Turk, it is never a good thing. He can't fire us yet and is probably the most useless NPC we have at the moment not including Hojo, Heidegger, or even Palmer, so we are entitled to lock ourselves in our offices until he finishes scratching at the door and goes to pester SOLDIER. Go that?"

Elena nodded with uncertainty, offering to help drag the cage into the only seat they could find on the bus.

**Waiting Room…**

The waiting room was crowded for a Wednesday morning. The Turks exchanged glances, each seeking a place to set the carrier down - away from the other animals frolicking around.

"Hey! Guys! You can sit over here!" One very casual, hyperactive SOLDIER second class waved his arms up and down while at his side, one very annoyed SOLDIER first class grumbled under his breath about having to take certain animals to the vet.

Reno held the EMR level with the cage as they moved closer. Zack raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Awesome! See Angeal. The Turks go to the vet too! So, what are you here for?"

"Demon cat," Reno replied and charged the EMR again. "Need Holy water."

Zack leaned forward and tapped the cage with a finger.

"Aw, it can't be that bad." He moved to open the cage, but Cissnei swatted him away before he could undo the lock.

"Open it and we'll tell everyone about your weird sock and tennis ball fetish."

Zack paled and backed away. Angeal buried his head in his hands in embarrassment. Why did he always have to be the one taking SOLDIERs to the vet?

The receptionist stepped into the waiting room, clipboard in hand.

"Dark Nation," her eyes fell upon the Turks waiting around the steel carrier. "This way please."

**Examination room C...**

Three Turks and a Turk in Training stood around the cold steel table, waiting with their weapons drawn for the demonic creature to maul any one of them at any moment.

"So," the veterinarian stepped over to the carrier and admired the warning stickers stuck all over its surface. "What seems to be the problem?"

Reno continued to hold the EMR at the ready. "It's supposedly sick, demented, and twisted in the head."

The veterinarian gave them a bored expression and opened the carrier.

Only to have said Demon Kitten purr loudly and brush against the vet's hand like a normal house cat. The Turks stood in silence and aw as the vet checked every inch of the supposedly 'ill' kitten.

"Well, it appears to be a healthy little kitten. No vices. No illness. Lungs sound good. Heartbeat better."

Reno leaned across the table.

"Trust me. This cat is a demon. It half mauled my face off!"

The vet scribbled something down on his clipboard and shook his head.

"This little guy?" He gestured to the kitten. "Is the epitome of healthy. You sir. I cannot make a diagnosis at this time."

The Turks looked from the vet to the kitten in disbelief. Reno could have swore the thing was smirking, playing some kind of cruel mind game in hopes of making up for its act later. Wordlessly, the vet shooed the kitten back into the crate and scribbled something down on a piece of paper, handing it to Rude.

"Twelve hundred gil?"

"That's for wasting my time," the vet replied and ushered the Turks back into the waiting room. Reno glared at the cage in murderous rage.

"Stupid. Lousy little-"

The crate clattered to the ground with an ominous clack before he could stop it from happening.

Dark Nation sped across the floor, a pleased with itself look about it - and vanished into oncoming traffic. The Turks exchanged glances of disbelief.

Moments later the screeching of cars slamming on their brakes filled the air.

Reno dug the toe of his shoe into the cement sidewalk and whistled innocently. "So, who wants to be the one to call Rufus?"

**---**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions, **

**Reno has a little 'chat' with Elena.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :)**


	61. Mission 61 Operation Encounter

**Behold, yet another fun mission for your reading pleasure. Hopefully I'm getting better at these. (I certainly am feeling motivated to write them.) I hope you enjoy this fun mission. **

**Mission Sixty One - Operation Encounter**

Reno Sinclaire did not normally pay much attention to the going ons of the Shinra Corporate Headquarters. His days were usually spent wandering the hallway, folder labeled 'missions' propped in front of him with a cleverly disguised offensive magazine for his reading pleasure. So it came at great surprise that he noticed the frazzled blonde sneaking through the hallway as though harboring an invisible target somewhere on her being.

For a moment, he watched in mock amusement as the poor creature peered around every door, almost twitching like a little mouse. The folder in her hands was trembling.

Reno put down the magazine and quietly stepped across the office he and Rude shared.

"Boo."

The folder went flying into the air as the blonde hit the ground in a cowering motion.

"Man," he whistled and pretended to be innocent yet again. "She's got you whipped good."

"Please don't hurt me."

Reno made no move to pick up the folder and leaned against the wall to watch the petrified blonde struggle to put everything in order.

"So, what'd ya do to put 'Nei in permanent PMS mood? Steal her pencils? Make a remark about her height? Sick a group of fan boys on her?"

The blonde cringed at the very mention of said female Turk and began to hurry along the hallway as all good Turks should when faced with an encounter of the Reno kind.

"Ah, you must have touched the rock garden. She really hates it when people mess with that. Or did ya invade her secret chocolate supply. Nah. Couldn't have been that. She would have turned you into a frog, or just outright killed ya."

Elena halted and glared.

"She threw a shuriken at me this time!"

Reno snickered and increased his pace to keep up with the blonde.

"At least she didn't throw a teacup at you. You know you've crossed the line when she starts throwing porcelain cups."

"She left me with only one HP left! It was horrible."

"'Nei's just being 'Nei." At this, the blonde paled and began to shake yet again.

"She's normally like that?"

Reno snatched the folder with the dexterity of a thief and skimmed over the contents.

"She's only playing with ya yo. If 'Nei wanted rid of you, she would have thrown you to that weird Yuri crowd that stalks Vincent for some odd reason and looked the other way a long time ago. Trust me. You wouldn't have stood a chance."

He could have swore that whatever backbone the young Turk had was now nonexistent.

"But don't worry. I'm going to teach you the secret way of the Turk."

Elena backed away slowly.

"Um, last time you did that, Rufus's cat was hit by a bus…"

"Minor detail. 'Nei will take care of that little issue. She's good at sympathizing. We once flushed her pet guinea pig down a toilet and it turned out alright."

"You flushed a guinea pig down the toilet!" she said in alarm, searching for a way out. The last thing she wanted to do was kill said Turk's prized pet.

Reno shrugged.

"It was more like a noble sacrifice. Don't worry, it, like the cat, survived the encounter. Now," he rested an arm around the blonde's shoulder and drew her closer with that impish smirk about him. "Let an old pro teach ya how it's done. With this little mission I'm about to share with you, 'Nei will be begging you to stick around so she can learn to be a female."

"W-what happens if I fail."

"Your life insurance is paid up right?"

And the Turk-in-training known as Elena began to wonder if she really should have just gone to the Pretzel Hut for a job instead of the Turks.

**Turk Floor, sometime later...**

Vincent Valentine was used to stalkers. Years of camouflaged fan girls had taught him to treat every poster, plant, piece of office furniture, pencil case and even the water cooler as a potential ambush point. But there was something different about the latest creature stalking him through the corridor to the Department of Administrative Research corridor at ten in the morning.

He stopped, noting that the creature following him did likewise. He started walking with the same results. Grabbing Death Penalty, he arched his shoulders forward in warning and picked his way towards his office. Halfway there, he turned, gun level with one very familiar red head and unfamiliar blonde.

"Whoa," Reno held his hands up innocently, hiding behind the blonde Turk. "'Nei's in one of her homicidal lady 'moods' again Vampire Man and we were just trying to build the newbie's credibility with some missions so they can coexist together."

"Credibility?" Vincent responded in typical Turk coolness. "_Right_. Don't call me Vampire Man and I'll let you live. Oh. You're the Port-a-John reporter woman."

"My name's Elena."

"I don't care about your name." He turned towards Reno as if to reprimand him. "Don't you have Rude to pester?"

Elena cowered at the glum mood surrounding the stoic Turk. Reno brushed it off casually.

"We thought you'd make a better target. 'Nei respects you."

"What did you do to her now?" Vincent returned Death Penalty to its holster and tapped his foot impatiently with the red head.

"Nothing. Just trying to be a good Samaritan to the newbie."

Vincent turned towards Elena as if to inspect her for the job.

"Whatever this permanent village idiot tells you, believe none of it. Your best chance at gaining credibility would be to do whatever it is the other red head tells you to do. You'll live longer. Now. If you two nitwits will excuse me - I have things to do."

"Whoa whoa whoa." Reno blocked his path yet again with a beaming smirk. "Maybe the blonde can help you for a couple of hours. You know. Super cool Turk stuff."

"Super cool Turk stuff? I don't know what you told her about sharpening pencils, but it is not cool and never was-"

Elena continued to look for an escape route.

"Please. We kinda sorta need a mission yo. Anything."

Vincent thought long and hard about it for a moment, his foot tapping the floor and arms crossed.

"Okay," his crimson eyes fell upon the newest Turk to the crew. "You want to build your credibility, then go get me a donut."

"Aw come on man. That's a lame mission. Got any assassinations or anything?"

"You wanted a mission…"

"It's fine." Elena nodded, petrified of Vincent. "Where do you want me to get the donut from."

"There's only one place you can get a triple chocolate, sprinkle frosted, starship glazed donut at…"

**Hojo's Laboratory, some time later…**

Elena trembled as she picked her way down the dungeon-like steps towards the strips of caution tape and cobwebs declaring this section of the lab a "Non-humanoid life form zone."

"Ah yes, I see you've come back-" His glasses flashed in the light. His nose wrinkled in mild surprise and he put down the stun gun. "You're not my special subject."

Elena cowered in surprise, noting the etch-a-sketch in the corner with a diagram of Hollander being eaten by pretty pink ponies.

"Mr. Valentine sent me for a donut-" The less than sane scientist circled her, tapping her shoulders with a stick and studying her.

"Too skinny. I told that arrogant receptionist wannabe that I needed Turks with meat on their bones. And he sends me creatures like this one. What nerve!"

Elena tried to back away, but ended up bumping into a cage containing a miserable looking houseplant.

A sound like a bird chirping filled the air from the scientist's lab coat.

Hojo scowled and answered the PHS.

"I'm in the middle of preparing to cross the DNA of a ficus and a Turk. Make this quick." He turned away and tapped his foot. "What do you mean you're out of The Complete Mad Scientist's Guide to Nuclear Splicing, Dicing, and Photo-Editing?"

Elena grabbed the donut and ran for her life.

**Turk Floor…**

"Did you get it?"

Elena nodded and held the donut out for inspection. Reno whistled.

"Whoa. It's no wonder Vincent is getting fat off these things. Poor guy. He's gonna need to go to the gym more often."

The elevator arrived at their floor and Elena stepped forward - and realized her fatal mistake.

"Reno!" Her shoelace caught in the door.

Reno darted through the elevator in vain effort to catch the blonde Turk, but thought better of it at the last moment.

The donut soared through the air in a near perfect arc - colliding with a stunned Reeve who had chosen to peer out of his office at that exact moment. Vincent glared.

"Consider yourself a target." And just like Vincent Vanished into the elevator.

"Whoa. You screwed that one up royally."

Elena wept in defeat.

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Behold, the Reno guide to being a successful living Turk.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill **


	62. Special Operation Easter Egg

**Heh heh. Sorry about not getting back to my reviews lately (I got about half of you answered and then the rest of you got unwarranted silence by accident). Reno chewed on my internet router while I was not looking and it kinda sorta screwed with the internet, which made for one very cranky Muse. Anyway, hopefully ya'll will enjoy this special Easter mission and I wish you all a very Happy Easter!**

**Special Operation Easter Egg**

Rude was a man of moral silence who did not ask unwarranted questions when they were not needed. But as he swiped his keycard and stepped into the Turks lounge to find a frazzled blonde huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth and muttering things he could not possibly understand, he began to wonder - just what had Reno done now?

For a moment, he merely stared at the unfortunate blonde, uncertain of what to do next. It was not like he could call Tseng for help. Turks of his stature just did not roll that way. He adjusted his shades and crept into the room, trying to look as casual as humanly possible.

"Rude!" Reno swept into the Turk lounge and rested an arm around his broad shoulders with a cheeky grin. "Right in time buddy. Me and Elena here were just about to head out on a mission-"

"Reno!" A familiar crimson shuriken pinned the tail of his blazer to the coffee table. "My office. Now."

"Aw. But we were about to go on a fun mission-"

Cissnei pointed to the door. "Now Reno. We need to talk about this now."

"All right oh great and mighty slave driver of- Ouch!" He looked at Rude who averted his eyes innocently. "What in the hell was that for?"

"Idiot control."

Reno kicked the floor with the toe of his shoe and stalked dejectedly after the auburn haired female Turk. Rude adjusted his shades and turned his attention upon the blonde hiding in the corner.

"I assume you have met Vincent."

Elena nodded with a fearful shiver. The bald Turk tossed the poor new Turk a potion from their secret store of them.

"For future reference you would be wise to acquire and carry a lucky rabbit's foot on you at all times. Trust me. You need all of the help you can get at this point."

And just like that, Rude left the lounge.

**Cissnei's office…**

"Whoa whoa whoa," Reno held his hands up in an effort to defend himself against the binder that landed against his shoulder. "Aren't we overreacting just a little bit 'Nei?"

The female Turk glared and reached for anything heavy she could find to throw at her excuse for a comrade.

"Overreacting! I'll give you overreacting!" A tiny pewter chocobo paperweight struck the wall and landed at Reno's feet. "One week Reno! Tseng leaves for one week. I'm sorry, not even forty eight hours, and look what happens to this place! Every public transportation vehicle in Midgar puts out a restraining order against us, Reeve's barricaded himself in his office until all pastries are banned from the premises, Vincent's having some sort of emotional male PMS moment, there is a nervous wreck of a newbie trapped in the lounge, and I had to make a deal I'm not proud of with Hojo to bring Rufus's cat back to life!"

"So we have a teeny tiny crisis on our hands. I'm sure it will be-" Another folder struck him.

"Oh we bulldozed crisis into the ground about fifteen minutes ago buddy."

Reno looked down at the folder in his hands, somewhat nervous. The look she was giving him was not one that boded well for any of them.

"Well Mr. Leader," she challenged. "Fix this one."

"Relax babe. I'm sure we can-" his eyes widened in horror. "Oh we are so screwed."

"You think? I'm not even sure how to get us out of this one. It's not like we have cheat codes or a Gameshark to give us infinite HP and invincibility for this."

Reno studied the pieces of pastel colored paper closer, his mind racing.

"So, how fast do you think you can level to infinity?"

Cissnei slapped him.

"Even if I spent all night leveling, I'd never be able to reach what was required for this mission! This is not even a Turk mission."

"You're right. We're over leveled. So we do the next best thing - delevel."

He cringed as he was about to be slapped again for his stupidity. But it never happened. Instead, the auburn haired female began to ponder their options.

"Delevel? You know what Reno. You might have a brain in there after all. Go get Rude and the newbie. I know just the people for the job."

**Somewhere in Midgar, 12:00 P.M.**

"I hate you."

"Aw, come on Angeal, this is going to be fun!" Zack bounced upon the balls of his feet excitedly and eyed the makeshift fence separating him from the patch of faux grass spread across half of a city block.

"Fun, Puppy, is not standing in the middle of a city at noon for one of the biggest children's events of the year."

Zack punched his unenthusiastic comrade in the arm.

"This used to be a lot of fun when I was little!"

Angeal shuddered at the thought of how Gongaga might have handled something as chaotic as this was going to be.

"Hey look! Turks!" He trotted through the crowd towards the four creatures huddled as far from the gathering crowd as humanly possible. Angeal raised an eyebrow.

"Wait! No! Puppy! Bad puppy! Aw forget it. Go learn a lesson for a change."

He watched the SOLDIER approach the gathering of Turks and sipped his hot chocolate to await the results. There was something sinister about them. They looked, dare he even think he saw it, happy for a change in some weird, demented sort of way.

His eyes narrowed. For as long as he could remember, this particular event usually ended with the Department of Administrative Research vowing unfulfilled vengeance upon all who dared to assign them the task of assisting in such a spectacle.

He began to envy Genesis for catching the first ever documented case of the Chocobo Pox of all days.

**By the fence…**

Rude adjusted his fuzzy ears and once again surveyed the contents of the small wicker basket with a stern sense of dread. At his side, two red heads wearing similar pairs of ears and cotton ball crafted tails whispered amongst themselves and compared baskets.

"You have a spare elixir right?"

"Yeah," Reno replied, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd of children being held at bay by the plastic fence. "You got phoenix downs?"

"One hundred and then some. You remembered to cast Protect and Shell right?"

"All I could find in your desk drawer was a Barrier."

"That will work."

"It's an Easter Egg hunt?" Elena ventured to inquire, studying the multitude of colored eggs scattered across the faux grass turf. "I don't understand. Where I come from these things were usually pretty lame."

Rude shook his head at the looks Reno and Cissnei were exchanging.

"You never exactly talked to Gun much did you?"

"Of course I did!"

"Did she ever happen to mention the Great Shinra Easter Egg Hunt by any chance?"

"Well, no. She never told me about these sort of lower missions-"

Cissnei struggled to straighten her pair of ears with little success and a hint of amusement that Rude wanted desperately to warn the newbie about treading into. Elena paled.

"Why are you asking?"

"No reason. Here. You can have the green basket."

"Hey guys!" Zack practically pounced upon the newbie by mistake. His eyes widened at sight of the baskets in their hands. "Oh! You're participating this year!"

Reno shrugged and took a step away from the hyperactive SOLDIER.

"Sure thing buddy. We're just-er-"

"Waiting for the official word from the president's son," Rude added in a hurried manner, watching the crowd for the blond haired menace who was supposed to announce the official start to the hunt.

"Awesome!" Zack draped his arms around the two red heads' shoulders and stared at Elena. "You got a new Turk!"

"Yes," Reno struggled to get the SOLDIER to release him. "Her name is Elena."

"I'm Zack."

"And I'm Reno." The red head jabbed the SOLDIER in the shoulder and pointed to where a dejected looking Rufus stood beside his father. "Look, not to cut this short, but you know how it is. We've got Turk stuff to do."

"Gotcha," Zack winked and waved to Elena. "We'll go out for those little folded triangle thingys one of these days."

Before she could reply, he was gone and Rufus had taken center stage.

"I want to welcome you one and all to the Fifteenth Annual Shinra Corporate International Easter Egg Hunt. Now my miserable peons with nothing left to do but serve as a barrier against hormonal fan- I mean those people we love for sponsorship - Take your baskets."

The Turks exchanged worried glances at the crowd.

"Get set-"

Angeal began pondering whether or not a hot chocolate scald was excuse to go home.

"Go!"

And the world as the Turks knew it turned upside down.

It began as a stampede of thundering feet and screams of joy. Plastic eggs flew high into the air every which way. An ocean of multicolored baskets waved in the air. And the Turks took off running with as much dignity as they could muster.

Rude darted to the left, panting as he struggled to evade the menaces swarming from every direction. A brilliant stab of pain shot through his thigh and he stumbled, basket flying high into the air and landing with a soft thud amidst the crowd. Like vultures, the children swarmed it.

"Remember children!" President Shinra eyed the four Turks weaving amongst the crowd, only their ears setting them apart from the others. "The one who gets the golden egg from the Easter Bunny gets a special prize!"

"The bald one doesn't have it!" Shouts filled the air as the children became restless, pulling out tiny carrot nunchucks and what appeared to be stun guns.

Elena felt her hands shaking, beady eyes watching her as the sinister little menaces began to draw closer. Reno grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her further along the grass turf.

"Did they just-"

"Don't ask questions! Just run!"

The newest Turk hurried after the pair of red heads as the mob of angry, determined children began to divide and circle.

"Duck and cover!" Plastic eggs exploded around them, multicolored pastel shrapnel clinging to their blazers and ears. Cissnei chanced a look over her shoulder and dodged a kick to the shin from a pair of twins.

"Evasive maneuvers!"

"Look out! They've got chocolate!" A chocolate rabbit exploded in mid-air, nearly draining his HP to zero. Reno swung his basket and took out a little boy close by.

Easter grass crackled as it erupted around them, herded the three renegade 'rabbits' closer together. Elena felt something hard strike her back and her basket wrenched out of her hands. She glanced up in horror as they descended. A pair of hands dragged her over the fence to safety.

"What in the heck is this supposed to be?" she gasped in horror as the cheering mob raced back onto the field. "I thought these things were supposed to be nonviolent!"

"Shinra prides itself in providing equally violent opportunities as often as possible-" Rude wiped the remnants of melted chocolate from his forehead and pointed to the pair of red heads surveying the crowded playing field like a pair of clever foxes. "Watch young Turk in training how the masters handle an impossible mission."

**On the left side of the field…**

They were surrounded. Drawing closer, stamping out a weird, ritualistic sort of dance with their baskets as shields and stun guns at the ready. Reno pressed his back against his comrade's, drawing a sharp breath at the amount of pain he was probably going to be in soon. Where was Reeve when they needed him?

"We're going to die, aren't we?"

"I brought the phoenix downs."

"I always thought we would die saving Rufus from fan girls."

"Well, we can't all die as heroes now can we," Cissnei surveyed the crowd and the distance to the fence. "Let's do this."

Reno's eyes widened in surprise as his comrade darted through the crowd for their one chance of survival.

**By the fence…**

"So what's the big emergency that was important enough to page me away from my Mahjong tiles for?"

Angeal dropped the hot chocolate. "We didn't-"

Reno hurled his basket to the general and vaulted over the fence.

"Hold this for a moment my new best bud in the world."

The children stopped. Sephiroth's eyes widened and he looked down at the basket in horror. There sat the golden egg.

"TURKS!" He fell beneath the sudden onslaught of chocolate covered fingers and flying Easter grass.

The four Turks stood along the fence and exchanged looks of amusement at the fate of the fallen general.

"You're so evil."

Cissnei snickered and tucked the PHS back into her jacket pocket.

"Mr. Fair should know better than to leave his PHS pager lying around, nonpassworded, with all of the numbers labeled, when in the presence of desperate Turks."

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Can the Turks continue their mission successes? Or will SOLDIER declare war?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	63. Mission 63 Operation Office Invasion

**This is a fun little mission the Muse just felt like writing because she could. Because poor Reeve just doesn't get enough love…**

**Mission Sixty Three - Operation Office Invasion**

Reeve Tuesti was best known for being the guy who always seemed to end up in the worst possible situations one in his particular career field could. He was the one always losing HP to rouge protractors at the worst possible times. He was the one who always ended up being declared dead well before the actual fact that he was indeed very much alive was ever proven. He was the one who always got the parking ticket when he did not, for any fact, even own a vehicle.

He held the piece of paper in disbelief. There were just some things in life Reeve could not explain. And just why the universe seemed to hate him on a regular basis was one of those things.

The unfortunate engineer stalked through the halls in a dejected manner, muttering various unspoken threats to whomever was responsible for the parking ticket in his name that would never be told because that was another major fault for the poor engineer - he was just too darned nice.

"Good morning Vincent."

"Go to a dark place in Hades."

Reeve raised an eyebrow as the stoic Turk vanished into his office and slammed the door shut behind him. Someone was in a bad mood today. The engineer sighed and stalked to his own office, finding the door partially jammed and a stack of paperwork covering his desk. Just another day in the life of a Tuesti.

He sat down to sift through his endless job, cringing as the pages flew everywhere. His eyes narrowed. He did not have to put up with this. He was an engineer darn it. And all good engineers had staplers.

He paled. The last time he had purchased a stapler, it had nearly murdered him and taken out most of the hallway around them. He rubbed his goatee in deep thought and began to pace around his office. The electric stapler was out.

So, Reeve Tuesti did as generations of engineers before him had always done - he took a phoenix down and went venturing for a set of non-lethal paperclips.

But the question was - and he asked himself repeatedly - just where would he find a simple set of paperclips? He stopped outside of Rude's office and peered through the crack in the door.

Considering that Rude shared an office with the whirlwind menace known as Reno, and it showed in the large amount of scattered papers and for some oddball reason, small wooden carvings of chocobos and moombas, and the faint lingering scent of moldy cheeseburgers and nachos, Reeve decided against invading the space of the two male Turks at risk of slipping on an old wrapper and ending up with a broken neck.

He shuddered as he wandered past Vincent's office, not daring to even try to breach the door for the sake of papers that needed to be corralled together. Had anyone ever been into the stoic Turk's office? He put it on top of his questions to be asked eventually and moved on.

Peering around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped into the only office he could think of that may possess paperclips, and the only level 108 stapler on the planet. With a sigh, he ambled over to the desk and began searching through drawers, hoping to get this out of the way as quickly as possible. He could always blame it on the newbie. Right?

Thumbtacks, rubber bands, several varieties of red pens. Reeve's brow furrowed in frustration. Surely she had to have some form of paperclip around here somewhere. He moved on to the next drawer, his fingers brushing against a small box-like shape. Triumphantly, the engineer drew the item from the desk - and nearly saw his entire life flash before his eyes.

He stood there like an idiot for several seconds, glancing at the nameplate upon the door and back to the desk he stood beside with one hand holding the item in question and the other keeping the desk drawer open. There was no way he was in the correct office. The newbie, he reasoned. This was the work of the newbie. It was just not possible that an item such as this belonged to a woman like Cissnei.

His eyes shifted back and forth with a bold streak he did not know he had and he pried the cover open for a quick peek at the contents. What he found nearly made him laugh out loud.

"Hey 'Nei, I was wondering if you-" Reno eyes widened as the engineer blushed and struggled to conceal the item from the overly hyperactive red head's field of vision. "What are you doing in here?"

"N-nothing," Reeve fought to control the scarlet blush covering his pale flesh as the red head stalked closer, unconvinced.

"What have you got there yo?" Before the engineer could prevent it, the lanky red head had snatched the item in question from his hands and flipped through its pages, green eyes widening like a pair of saucers at the contents.

"What. In. The. Hell."

"Give it back so I can put it back and get out of this with some HP left."

Reno cocked his head to the side with a low whistle and held the tiny book up to the light.

"I don't care how many well toned muscles you have. A man just cannot sit that many hours on a chocobo and still do that sort of thing at the end of the day! The law of male physics says it is not possible!"

Reeve blushed in embarrassment yet again as Reno continued to flip through the pages.

"Oh this is just wrong. Aw come on! No wonder women are unsatisfied with the male species! This guy makes us all look like uneducated Neanderthals! Well I'm going to go do something about this."

"Wait!" Reeve considered falling to his knees and begging for mercy. The last thing he needed was an angry female Turk storming into his office to murder him. "Can't we work this out. I mean. Just give me the book and we can pretend it never existed."

Reno shook his head.

"Listen Reeve. We have to stop this before it upsets the natural balance of the universe. We let this go and before you know it 'Nei will be wearing dresses, getting her nails done, talking on her PHS to her girlfriends. You know, attractive girl stuff that will make us all realize that she is actually available to date. Holy forbid she'll learn how to flirt, find a mate, and have little Turk babies with a guy like this Fabio dude!" Reno dropped the book in horror. "Holy. Reeve. It's already happening. The way she behaves around us heathen males."

Reeve slapped his forehead and pondered jumping out a window. "Reno, she's not-"

"You might have just saved the entire male species Reeve. Thanks to you there is hope for us. Now, we have to dispose of this male destroying tome of doom and save 'Nei from the dark side."

Reeve collapsed to the ground with a groan of protest at the universe's cruel sense of humor. All he had wanted was a simple paperclip.

"What are you going to do?" he quivered, uncertain if he wanted to even know.

Reno's eyes narrowed.

"The only thing we can do Reeve - we're going to assassinate this Fabio guy."

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**How _does_ one go about assassinating a character from a romance novel?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	64. Mission 64 Operation Ambush

**The Muse has nothing better to do with her time at the moment aside from write a pointless rant that makes no sense whatsoever and try to nurse a venemous spider bite that will prevent any updates for a while because she can only type with one hand at the moment. Enjoy this chapter for a while folks!**

**Mission Sixty Four - Operation Ambush**

From the moment Reno had picked up that romance novel, Reeve Tuesti knew that he had unleashed a monster. The only problem was just how he was going to fix this issue before it exploded out of control.

Scratch that. It had, in the following order, managed to escalate to a level beyond that of even the most insane issues he had ever been forced to be a part of. Reeve rubbed his forehead and pondered walking into the lounge. If he moved quick enough, he might just be able to remedy the situation before anyone had to know he was the one responsible.

"I need the newbie."

Rude glanced up from the pile of Uno cards splayed between himself and the blonde in question, wondering to whom he owed a thank you for the sudden Reno outburst.

"It's our break time."

Reno swept in like a vulture and grabbed the blonde by the arm, half hauling her to her feet and half upsetting the stack of cards.

"It's a matter of national security."

Rude shook his head with a raised eyebrow of interest. Matters of national security almost never came to Reno's inbox of all places. They went to much more capable hands. His eyes narrowed at the engineer cowering in the doorway. Why did he get the feeling that Reeve was about to be hit by a bus at any moment now?

"It's Wednesday," Rude deadpanned. "We don't have matters of national security on Wednesdays."

It was true. With Rufus left on his own to play with his legos in his room there was a zero percent chance of him wandering off and being humiliated. And President Shinra was away at a checkers match with Heidegger all afternoon. Terrorists just did not roll that way.

"We do today! The entire male species is in danger if we don't do something!"

Rude adjusted his shades.

"I think you are overreacting just a little bit."

Reeve gave a mental prayer of thankfulness. Perhaps he would live to see another day after all.

"Rude. Our _manhood_ is at stake here. I've run the numbers on this guy. He's a high level, sweep 'em off their feet, Romeo whackjob, whose sole purpose in life is to turn all of womankind against us heathen males! I have reason to believe he's got Cissnei under his spell."

Elena raised an eyebrow at the seriousness behind Reno's look. Did he not bother to read the memo sent out this morning?

"Reno, she's-"

"Under his spell damn it! I found the evidence in her office and she's missing again! This is the second time in a month yo!"

"Oh, she had business to attend to at Shinra Park," Elena explained. "She left orders that she would be back later and did not want to be bothered over her lunch break unless someone got shot, the apocalypse was at the door, something needed copied, or the building collapsed to the ground."

"This is all of the above and then some. Now. We need to go kill this guy and rescue our comrade before it's too late!"

Rude sighed and watched Reno drag the newbie and a quivering Reeve into the hallway, probably never to be seen again. He propped his feet up onto the table and began reading the morning newspaper. After all, they couldn't get into that much trouble with Reeve around - could they?

**Shinra Park, sometime that afternoon…**

There was just something about Turks and trees that rewrote the entire handbook of disguises and impending failure. Reeve sighed and crouched behind an oak, trying to get a better glimpse of the two human beings behind the hedges of Shinra Park.

Just why Reno felt it in their best interest to not be seen in public just boggled the poor engineer's mind.

"Are you sure this is okay to be doing?" Came the hesitant voice belonging to a young male. Reeve cringed, noting the wide eyes and twitch of Reno's hand upon the EMR.

"Don't worry. We have permission," Cissnei answered. "In fact, this was approved by the higher ups to help boost moral for the company and the city."

"Good. I was worried there for a while. You know with the fact that Sephiroth wouldn't be caught dead doing this sort of thing in public…"

"First time eh? Well don't worry. I'll guide you through this. Sephiroth isn't man enough to handle a mission of this caliber with a Turk of all people. Consider this an opportunity to learn a life lesson."

Reeve watched Reno's jaw drop in absolute horror and Elena restrain him from jumping through the hedge as the auburn haired female Turk vanished behind a fountain with a familiar blonde haired infantryman in tow.

"This is going to be so much fun. Are you going to write an evaluation of my performance?"

Cissnei scrawled something down in her little black book with a nod and pointed downward at something.

"It's my job. I'll write you whatever you want if you prove yourself worthy of getting that thing in the hole without breaking it."

Elena blushed and crept further into the bushes. That last thing she wanted to do was give away her presence during what was supposed to be a, ahem, private moment between a Turk and an infantryman…Supposedly.

"All right. Cloud. Hey. Wait a second." There was the sound of scuffling and something striking the ground. "You have to be gentle with this thing. It's not like you can just go ramming it into the hole! Something this big needs to be treated gently."

"All right. That's it. This ends now."

Reeve watched as the flame haired menace vaulted over the hedge and a shriek of surprise filled the air with the crackle of the EMR. The splash of a body landing in the fountain echoed through the park.

"Reno!" Cissnei clutched her arm with a grimace of pain and stared up at the frantic infantryman struggling to escape from the enraged Turk wielding the EMR. She splashed through the water and reached for the shuriken in anger. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

"This Fabio-wannabe is gonna turn you into one of those chicks who oggle fan fic characters all day long!"

"I-I didn't do anything wrong!" Cloud cowered behind a park bench as Reeve and Elena trotted into range, the latter struggling to assist the female Turk out of the fountain. "I-I was just doing a job..."

"Tell that to the Yaoi crowd buddy."

"Reno!"

"Stay out of this Cissnei. This little runt of an infantryman was going to-"

"Reno, he wasn't doing anything wrong!"

"I heard the conversation. He was gonna-"

A slap echoed with enough force to make many of the innocent bystanders turn away. Cissnei pointed towards the fountain in frustration.

"Idiot. If you must know what we were doing, take a look for yourself!"

Reeve blushed a deep crimson color and turned away. Elena shook her head with a laugh.

Reno turned his attention from the cowering infantryman for a moment to glance at what could possibly have been the finest looking dwarf apple sapling ever to be seen in the region and the near perfect hole which was to become its new home in the center of the park.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Just what has Tseng been up to lately?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	65. Mission 65 Operation The Egg and I Pt 1

**Yes, I know I promised you all a Tseng chapter and you will find out what poor, overworked and underpaid Leader of the Turks has been up to soon enough. The Muse happened to look over the master list of missions and realized that a lot of things must still happen before poor Tseng is to be tormented with the mission that will destroy both his and Vincent's sanity. And I also want to say thank you to everyone for making this fic so successful! The year anniversary of its creation was well, a couple of weeks ago, and so far there have been over 75,000+ hits on it. It makes the Muse's day to know that people have been enjoying the fic. That said, enjoy this fun, short surprise mission folks! **

**Mission Sixty Five - Operation the Egg and I Part One**

Rude considered himself to be a fairly level-headed man when it came to childish feuds and pointless, meritless squabbles usually instigated by the equivalent of Neanderthal-like baboons. Usually, all he had to do was grab the emergency spray bottle and aim for the culprit responsible for the argument and the fighting would cease in a semi-peaceful manner. Worked like a charm for Reno most of the time anyway.

But today, for some oddball reason, he found himself witnessing what could possibly be the most interesting - if not amusing - event to ever shake the Department of Administrative Research's hallways.

"Hey 'Nei, I realize you're culinary challenged, but honestly, if you wanted to know how to cook an egg, I could have just shown you yo."

Said redhead in question peered up from the folder she was currently reviewing and glared at the instigating redhead leaning halfway over her desk, poking at what appeared to be an average-sized chicken egg wrapped in a blanket under the desk lamp. She promptly swatted his hand away with a growl.

"Go away Reno. I'm really not in the mood to deal with you today."

"Ouch. You wound me so." There was a thump as Reno sat on the desk and reached for the egg yet again. "So, you want to eat this thing scrambled? Or what?"

Rude flinched at the resounding slap that echoed from the office and the sound of a folder striking the desk.

"We're not going to eat the egg. I'm _supposed _to be helping to hatch it."

At this, Rude peered through the doorway out of interest, uncertain of whether or not he had heard correctly. Had one of the most unlikely of people to ever win mother-of-the-year just claimed to be in charge of hatching an actual child-turned-egg? Reno appeared to be in equal shock as he doubled over in laughter and began to pound his fist upon the desk. The egg trembled awkwardly closer to the edge of the desk.

"You mean, you're actually going to-"

Cissnei grabbed the egg protectively before it could fall from the desk and crack.

"Pending my idiot comrades keep their mitts off of it, then yes, that is exactly what I intend to do," she stated matter-of-factly. Rude adjusted his shades and stifled a laugh at the circumstances. "Now, get out of my office."

Reno staggered into the hallway, still laughing as the door slammed shut and was dead bolted.

"Well, she had to lose her mind sooner or later." Reeve pulled out his little black book. "Who had thirteen years, seventy two days, sixty minutes again?"

Rude raised his hand with a proud nod of approval. It was about time he won something for a change.

"Now, all we have to do is wait for Tseng to lose his mind and we're set for retirement. I would say we should be taking bets on the newbie next, but I think she's already lost it."

"I'm standing right here Reno! Why's everyone standing around Cissnei's office all of a sudden anyway? Did the crazy one finally lose whatever fruit loops she had left?" Elena peered over the stack of paperwork she was carrying with interest. Reeve snapped the book shut hastily with a look towards Rude and Reno, half expecting a shuriken to come flying through the paper-thin walls over the comment.

"That's rude."

"Pardon? I believe all of my fruit loops are still accounted for."

"Yeah," Reno prodded the bald one's elbow with his own. "And we all agreed that Rude does not have Fruit Loops. He's more of a Cheerios guy."

Elena sighed and handed Reno several of the papers in defeat. There was just no way to justify her career choice most of the time.

**Outside of Cissnei's office, some two hours later…**

There were times in a young Turk's life, when life itself just was not fair. For Reno Sinclair, this was such a time.

Rude sighed and watched the redhead press closer to the door, listening to what appeared to be a rather animated conversation taking place upon the other side of it.

"I wish this thing would hurry up and hatch already. It's starting to really get on my nerves. Well, no, I-Now see here. This is not really my problem. No I will not sing it a lullaby!" There was the sound of a frazzled Turk storming across her office to retrieve something. "I don't care if that's what little Irma wants or not!"

Reno stifled a laugh and pointed to the door. "She named it Irma and has been talking to it for the better part of an hour now."

Rude raised an eyebrow and took a seat beside his redheaded comrade out of curiosity.

"Listen, I've done everything the book says and it still isn't hatching yet! I know that. Well, that was rude of you. All right. All right all ready. I'll sing the stupid lullaby! Just stop talking to me as though I'm an idiot!"

Rude looked at Reno. "Think we should call Tseng?"

"Nah. I'm sure it's just a woman thing. We'll ask Elena later. But seriously yo. I really didn't know Turks could lay eggs."

And Rude began to question his own sanity.

**Some time later…**

"Now Reno, just because she pays more attention to a protein filled, delicious, nutritious breakfast food than you doesn't mean you're still not important to the Turks." Reeve flipped through his magazine casually and tried to ignore the redhead lounging across from him in a dejected manner. "After all, it's not like the egg is actually talking to her."

"She's been yelling at it for the past five hours Reeve. I really think we've pushed her over the deep end this time."

"So give her some space. She'll get over it sooner or later." Silence met his response. "Reno? You listening to me?"

"For the sanity of Turks far and wide, that egg must die."

Before Reeve could stop him, Reno was gone. They really should not have given him that haste ring.

**Cissnei's office, three minutes, thirty-six seconds later…**

It stared at him without emotion from its protective cradle of soft cotton. Reno lowered himself to the ground in a ninja-crouch and peered around the doorway, watching as the auburn haired female Turk carried her paperwork to Reeve's office for the day none-the-wiser to what was about to take place.

"All right, Irma. Prepare to be omelet-ized." He grabbed the egg and hurried into the hallway.

"Hey, Reno." He froze as Cissnei approached, reading the contents of yet another folder. His heart began to race and he peered around for a place to hide the evidence. Settling on the janitor's cart underneath a pile of dustpans, he turned towards his comrade with a nervous look about him.

"Yeah?"

"Paperwork. Did you finish any of it today?"

"All of it. Yeah. All of it." He backed away slowly as she wandered into her office and then bolted for the lounge as the high pitched screech of rage filled the air and a shuriken soared through the hallway.

"Reno!"

Rude looked up from his paperwork as the red haired menace bolted into the lounge and cowered behind the couch.

"Oh no. What did you do?"

"Nothing yo. Absolutely nothing."

Cissnei stormed into the lounge, shuriken in hand, glaring at the unfortunate Turks and one engineer gathered there.

"Who did it? What did you do with Irma?"

Reno peered over the couch

"I swear it wasn't my fault. You can always buy a new egg."

If looks could kill, Reno would have been negative HP in a millisecond.

"I can't buy a new egg! It wasn't even mine to begin with! Vincent gave it to me for the afternoon while he went out to buy a basket for it!"

A certain sense of doom crossed every male's face as Reno bolted into the hallway in frantic search of little Irma, only to find the janitor's cart missing.

And Rude knew, from that moment forward, that the world as they knew it was about to end…

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Will little 'Irma' ever be hatched? Or will she end up being an egg-sample of what happens when you enlist the help of Turks? Will Vincent ever put all of his eggs in one basket? And will Reno ever get an omelet?**

**Tune in next time folks for more fun with Turks. You know you want to. ;) **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	66. Mission 66 Operation The Egg and I Pt 2

**Whoa. Now that was a hiatus the Muse was not expecting to take so long. Don't worry. It was a good hiatus. Someone had to get the garden in for the season. (Expect a fun garden-themed mission shortly folks at Reno's expense.) ;) Anyway folks. This mission did not go how I wanted it to and in the future I may rewrite it. I promise I'll do better next time and I hope you'll all at least get a laugh out of this one. Also, and I know I'm a day early with this, be sure to honor a veteran this Memorial Day folks. :)**

**We now join our regularly scheduled programmed mission-in-progress as our fellow Turks struggle to find out the egg-citing fate of poor Irma…**

**Mission Sixty Six – Operation the Egg and I Part Two**

"Okay, we need to calm down and think rationally about this."

Rude flinched at the resounding echo of a folder striking flesh, the red-haired menace in question collapsing to the ground in a dazed and confused heap at the auburn-haired female's feet.

She turned a menacing eye upon the other Turks should they choose to interfere. "Rationally! I can't think rationally about this! You lost Vincent's egg! Do you realize what he's going to do when he finds out about this?"

"It's not like vampire boy can kill you. You're like level infinity and we of the male species established that all females in the building have that weird-freakish ability to become invincible one week out of the month-"

Rude flinched as Cissnei kicked her one-time comrade and threw the folder down in frustration.

Reeve considered locking his office door as he watched the Turks scatter at the venomous anger over the loss of Vincent's property rapidly dissolving any and all sanity he had hoped for. It was going to be a good day. He could feel it.

"All right," Cissnei sighed, retrieving her shuriken and turning towards the other Turks. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to get Irma back. Elena and I will handle Vincent for the time being. You guys go find wherever that custodian cart might have gone."

**Somewhere on the first floor, ten minutes later…**

There were missions. And then there were _missions_. Rude could not decide which this particular mission category was at the moment as he wandered through the dark, dismal corridor, destination - the door at the very end labeled "Custodian."

"Is there a reason that I have to be here?" Reeve inquired in a miserable whine as Reno prodded him along with the EMR. "I wasn't even involved!"

"We were informed by former Turks that a human sacrifice may be necessary to challenge this particular boss."

"You could have caught an infantryman!"

"Nah," Reno jabbed him forward again as Rude shook his head in shame. "NPC Engineers are cheaper."

Reeve scowled. "I happen to be a rather important NPC thank you very much."

Reno smirked. "Token human sacrifice. Yep. I'd say you're saving the world one roll of toilet paper at a time."

"I'll toilet paper you!" Rude prevented the irate sacrifice-to-be from mauling the red head and placed himself before the door, prepared for just about anything. It was a pity he had not bothered to grab the Libra materia from Cissnei's locker on the way out of their territory this round. With a sigh, he grasped the doorknob and eased the door open.

"Wait." Reno's eyes narrowed. "What the hell man?"

Reeve smirked and uttered what sounded like a halleluiah as he gazed upon the vacant room where no less than forty janitorial carts sat parked in neat little rows, each with its own parking meter and tether, no custodians in sight.

Rude nodded his approval. "Which cart did you put the egg on?"

For a moment, Reno continued to stare, somewhat unnerved that everything was so organized and downright spooky. He had never exactly seen forty carts with exactly thirteen rolls of paper towels apiece and an equal amount of toilet paper rolls and various cleaning utensils and fluids. He jabbed Rude in the side with his elbow and pointed to the last cart. "The one with the orange dustpan."

Reeve and Rude exchanged glances and momentarily considered murdering Reno. There was not a single cart without an orange dustpan to be found. With a sigh, they began checking each one top to bottom.

**Fifteen Minutes Later…**

"Anything?"

"Only a packet of sponges." Reno tossed them over his shoulder and continued to root through the contents of yet another cart in frantic search of an egg.

Reeve shrugged and placed a bottle of Mr. Dust Buster back onto the cart he was currently searching, having that odd sense of impending doom as he did so for the millionth time since being dragged along on assignment. "Nothing here either."

Rude sighed and adjusted his shades as he studied the rows of carts yet again. It was then that he saw it. Nestled in the center of the far cart, right between a broom handle and a small feather duster, was Irma. The egg sat, mocking him from its position as he gave a small cry of excitement and pointed.

"And now to save the day - Turk style!" Reno bolted across the floor with a flamboyant whoop of excitement, clambering over the remaining carts in an effort to reach the defenseless egg.

Reeve steadied a bottle of liquid soap in horror. "Reno! Wait!"

"Relax," Reno smirked, balancing upon his knees on the cart beside the one containing Irma. "I got this."

The cart inched forward, rolling down the uneven floor at the slightest pressure of being unbalanced by the addition of a red-haired menacing Turk leaning across it to grab for the egg.

Reeve covered his eyes in horror as several bottles of liquid soap began to fall from their position upon their own carts, exploding upon impact with the floor. The cart swiveled out of the lineup and began drifting away from the pack.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Reno frantically reached for the egg as the cart barreled out of control down the runway of soap, gaining speed by the foot. A mop flew back and clobbered him along the side of the head.

Rude struggled to give chase, the floor betraying him and he fell, taking a horrified Reeve down with him. Reno gave a whoop of terrified excitement and clutched the egg protectively against him as the cart hit the regular second floor corridor and headed for the railing of the balcony overlooking the first floor receptionist area.

Both Turk and engineer covered their eyes at the horrific echo of metal grinding against metal and the painful yelp of another Turk plunging to his doom as the cart threw him to the ground and reared up onto the railing.

The cart ground to a halt, the egg rolling innocently out of Reno's outstretched, twitching hands, and down the canal chute formed by the fallen broomsticks and mops. With a click, it halted for a brief moment atop a fallen bottle of Mr. Dust Buster, and tumbled backwards over the railing.

Reno and Rude watched as the egg plummeted down the stairwell and landed with a sickening bounce within the tray of linens en route to the laundry room, never to be seen again.

The bald Turk adjusted his shades as he stood over his fallen comrade. "I suggest you make up a good story to tell Cissnei when you call her and inform her of this. It's not a matter of if she kills you. I'd be concerned as to _how _she'll do it and _when_."

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Cissnei tries to help Vincent with his 'man' problems. A new foe declares war on the Department of Administrative Research. And an old nemesis returns…**

**Be sure to tune in folks! Admit it. You're curious…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	67. Mission 67 Operation Midnight Masquerade

**Hey there folks. The Muse is finally getting back into the swing of things. (Listens to all of the "About darn time" speeches from you readers.) With any luck, you should be seeing a minimum of at least one decent update a week from now on. Who knows. You may even see two depending on what sort of mood the Muse is in. She's been sort of lacking motivation lately for some odd reason. Once again, I hope I'm able to break out of the cycle and start writing actual entertaining missions again. That said, in my opinion this is a rather weak mission, but it does set up several domino effect missions that will be worth it in the long run. Promise. Enjoy this semi-filler-setup mission folks! **

**Mission Sixty Seven - Operation Midnight Masquerade**

There were two things in life one never asked a Turk to do. The first involved requiring them to be on time to any function. Usually, when asking a Turk to be at a specific location at a specific time, it usually meant about a half of an hour to an hour from said original time. Anything less meant that you either had a death wish or were just plainly an idiot not familiar with how the system worked. On the off-chance one did manage to convince a Turk to show up on time, he would immediately be promoted to president of the world and given a flashy new sports car and hailed a hero to mankind.

Turks just did not do anything in a timely fashion and no one was about to tell them otherwise.

The second thing one never asked a Turk to do, was to call another Turk for advice…

Cissnei rolled over and snuggled deeper under the covers with a growl of annoyance, momentarily considering throwing the ringing menace of a PHS out the window in an effort to shut it up. Didn't they know that it was the one night a year she was not on duty for any reason whatsoever?

The phone continued to ring for the better part of fifteen minutes before she reached across the nightstand and calmly swatted the menace onto the floor, mentally praying that whoever was bothering to disturb her would simply give up and move on to the next available Turk.

The PHS continued to shrill despite her best efforts to ignore it. Admitting defeat, she reached around for the offending piece of miserable plastic, finally finding it under the nightstand. Remaining silent, she held the phone up, trying to see through sleepy eyes just who in the hell was bothering to tempt fate tonight.

"Hello." She managed, wishing she had hit ignore instead of answer.

"We need to talk."

She sat up with a groan of defeat and clicked on the light beside the bed, blinding herself. "What do you want Vincent. It's-" she barely caught sight of the time on the battered and abused excuse for a digital clock. "It's three in the morning? Someone had better be dead."

"It's horrible! Absolutely horrific!" he whined, prompting the youngest Turk to consider hanging up the phone immediately. Vincent, hysterical, usually meant Reno had done something equally distressing, in this case, killed an egg. She grumbled under her breath.

"How did you get this number?"

"Elena gave it to me before filing a restraining order. Wait. Don't hang up! I need your help." He begged in very un-Vincent-like fashion that prevented her from hanging up the phone. "You have to help me. You're the only one who might be able to-"

"Have you been drinking?" she dared to inquire, pondering just what she could help a Turk like Vincent with in the middle of the night, and regretting that he had somehow managed to get around her own restraining orders by calling an unlisted number. And she began to wonder just how many fan girls he was surrounded by as he probably stood cowering in the men's bathroom down at Goblins Bar.

"Oh it's terrible!" He screeched, the sound of something striking the ground actually getting the younger Turk out of bed and in search of her blazer. "My life is over!"

"Okay. All right," she retrieved the shuriken from its spot by the door and finished buttoning the blazer. "Stay where you are. I'll come pick you up and drive you home. I'll be there in a few minutes okay?"

"Please hurry. They're looking at me odd."

Cissnei sighed and hung up the phone, making a mental note to murder Elena for not accepting the simplest mission a female Turk could - round up their drunken male comrades when called upon to do so.

**Goblin's Bar, 3:30 A.M.**

There were few places on the planet a female Turk of Cissnei's caliber dreaded to venture. Aside from the usual shenanigans of her comrades - the most notable being an unexpected trip years ago to bail them out of jail for dressing a chocobo in drag and riding it naked through the streets of Midgar all in the name of promoting the new prices at Chocobo King - she liked to consider herself a fairly levelheaded Turk under the circumstances.

But even sensible Turks had their limits. And as she saw him seated at the far table, somber as the day was long, Cissnei momentarily considered throwing the shuriken at him just for spite. He knew she had to be at work in less than two hours and here he was, at the bar, seemingly staring at a glass of water and munching on peanuts in typical stoic Vincent fashion.

"Vincent Valentine-" He held up a hand for silence, his eyes darting back and forth at the three sheets and a sail to the wind crowd warbling at the karaoke machine in the corner.

"I need to talk to you."

"I gathered that much. Now what did you want?" She sat across from him and momentarily considered ordering a drink.

"I need you to obtain a book for me."

"You have a library card."

"Well, you see, it's kind of a book I don't have the security clearance to check out you see. And you-" Vincent blushed slightly and scribbled something on a piece of paper before sliding it over to the female Turk. "Well, you might understand the importance of this particular book's contents."

"You could have just told me over the phone that you needed me to stop by the library and pick up a book for you…"

"Can't," he defended. "Phone might be tapped."

Cissnei scowled. The only person tapping her phone was herself. She was in charge of tapping all of their phones - even the weird guy at the end of the hallway who guarded the elevator on Saturdays.

"Vincent. I respect you as Turk, but-" her eyes roved over the title of the book in confusion. "Perhaps I'm not the right person for this mission."

He reached across the table again in very un-Vincent-like fashion and grabbed her blazer, earning a reflexive slap that prompted the interest of the barkeep.

"Reno would have a field day if he found out what I'm looking for! Please Cissnei! I'll do anything!"

Anything? The word tempted the younger Turk to no end. For the third unwritten Law of the Turks was that if a Turk owed a favor, it really could be used for ideal blackmail at the appropriate times. She fingered Rekka in thought, not recognizing the title of the book. The last time anyone owed her a favor, Katana had quit the Turks and taken three others with him - not that attending Rufus's sweet sixteen birthday party should have warranted such a dramatic action or anything.

"All right, Vincent. I'll get you your book. But. I'm going to take you up on that offer sooner or later…"

**Somewhere in an undisclosed location on the second floor of the Shinra Building…**

They sat around the card table, twiddling their thumbs, all eyes upon the man seated at the head of the table in the olive green uniform, complete with little plastic name tag worthy of his rank.

"Men," he began, slamming both palms down upon the table and faced his minions. "We have a dire situation that must be attended to immediately."

Several nods of approval met his as he pointed to the chaotic wreckage of custodian carts lathered in Mr. Dirt Buster with oversaturated sponges scattered everywhere and paper towels clinging to everything.

"As you are aware," he began pacing back and forth. "Very few people underestimate the power of the Shinra Custodial Department and live to tell the tale. As you can see, gentlemen, we have a few who dare to tread upon our toes and think they are immune to our ways. But that ends today!"

He stood upon on of the fallen carts and retrieved a feather duster.

"It is very simple men," their leader tapped a feather duster against the table, watching as the remaining custodians sat up a little bit straighter. "Like many others who have fought this foe, we shall strike quick and fast! The Department of Administrative Research will be at the mercy of our department from now on! We shall gain the respect we deserve!"

Cheers rang out and they scrambled to secure their weapons.

**Cissnei's apartment, 6:00 A.M.**

She was late for work for the first time in thirteen years.

"Stupid men." She fumbled with her keycard in an effort to gain access to her apartment in a vain effort to at least get the folders she needed for work. "Always calling in the middle of the night. Never drunk when you want them to be."

The door clicked open, revealing the chaotic whirlwind of a disaster that made her reach for the shuriken in shock. She had been robbed? Her eyes darted over the scattered papers and articles of clothing ripped from the dresser drawers. She momentarily considered calling for help, but thought better of it at the last moment, as she crept around the disaster zone in search of whomever had committed such a crime. Whoever had done this would be no match for a Turk of her level.

"It seem we meet again, Cricket."

The youngest Turk froze, her blood running cold and the keycard fell to the ground. Amber eyes wide in horror, she screamed and dropped the packet of folders she had been in the process of retrieving.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Will a certain female Turk finally meet her match? Is Reno ever going to say the right thing? Will we **_**ever **_**find out the title and contents of Vincent's requested book?**

**Tune in next time folks. Admit it, you're currious.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	68. Mission 68 Operation Proposal

**The Muse apologizes for this mission not being written and released on time. She'd make excuses, but all you really need to know is that it involved the recent release of the Sims 3 and one very irritated Muse having a Vincent moment (Um, why is the screen yelling at me?) followed immediately by a Reno moment (I don't care what you say, yelling and striking computer repeatedly WILL sometimes fix the problem,) while trying to get it to work on a more-than-capable machine. (Muse 1, Computer 18,000 and counting.) :P So yeah, it's a little late, but hopefully ya'll will enjoy it. Fans of my other fic will enjoy the vague reference and torment of a certain underappreciated AVALANCHE member that takes place in…three….two…one…ACTION! : ) **

**Mission Sixty Eight - Operation Proposal**

There were few things in life that could make a high-caliber, grounded, specialized Turk nearly faint in horror, turn in her badge, volunteer for Jury Duty, and worst of all, consider willingly accompanying Palmer to the Lardacus Maxamus All You Can Eat Regional Eating Contest held in Mideel Bi-Yearly. As Cissnei backed away from the fiend that had invaded her personal living space, she began to wonder just how quickly could she book a flight to Mideel.

"It take long time. Year and three week. But I find perfect hobo for irritating Cricket."

Cissnei paled and held the folder length-wise. Not that she expected it to do much to save what little dignity she still possessed. But these sort of weapons worked in the movies, right? A swift kick to the shin made her wince and look down at the foe cornering her, Rekka in his hands and held out of range.

"That better," his beady eyes met her amber ones in challenge. "Respect elders when they in presence. Stupid father teach you nothing! Hobo mother teach even less! You still walk like confused chocobo in porn store."

"Er, ah, Master Ying? Ouch!"

"It Yeng!" He kicked her in the knee again, hopping wildly up and down and waving the shuriken threateningly. She cowered against the wall, frantically searching the nightstand for a piece of materia, preferably silence, so she could make an escape of some kind. "Disrespectful. There much work to do."

He snatched the folder from her hands and began to flip through it.

"Hey! Give that back!" She lunged for it, but the elder man effortlessly sidestepped her attempt.

With a grunt of annoyance, he tossed it out the open window, the pages flying everywhere. "You solve matter of Immediate National Security on own time. This Yeng's time."

Cissnei flinched and watched the old man inspect her apartment in disgust. A stuffed moomba struck her shoulder.

"Box house better than this. You attract hobo because you live like one. This never do!" He tore the bed sheets from her bed and upset the nightstand. Cissnei could only watch, helpless, as he tore her apartment to shreds like an over aggressive puppy. "You need culture! Where paintings of naked foreign boys every lady fantasize about! Where traditional hobo-attracting thong and stockings? Where shrine to SOLDIER Midgarian Idol winner?"

The terrified Turk huddled under the coffee table as Master Yeng continued to assess her meager belongings with a critical eye. If only she could reach that open window somehow…

"Sweater? You have sweater in city it never snow in? You dumb woman!" He threw the unfortunate sweater across the room and upset the dresser. "Cricket need dress like super hot mama to attract man! Lots of fishnets and feather. We kill bird later. Get feathers. No wonder you suck as woman! You have apartment of female man!"

The clock struck seven, officially declaring her late for work.

"And this!" Cissnei dodged the CDs he whipped her way, watching as they plunged into the garbage can. She never imagined she'd need her Turk training in her own home. "What this? Woman no make baby to _Sounds of the Rainforest_! We get music to make baby to."

She trembled and reached for the PHS. If she survived this, she promised herself that she would never ever cast status effects on her foes before brutally finishing them off again. Unfortunately, Master Yeng was immune to all and capably of casting them all at once, without even knowing he was doing it - according to her trusty Libra of course.

"No beeping plastic thing for you!" She watched in horror as he tossed it across the room and out the window to the street below with a sickening crack. "Real woman use Bluetooth compatible beeping annoyance!"

And then, he entered the kitchen…

Stripped of what little dignity she once had, she watched as the old man hurled most of the ramen she owned into the nearest trashcan and settled upon an unfortunate box of Lucky Charms for closer inspection.

And she watched his eyes light up with fires beyond that of Ifrit. And his head practically spun in a 360 degree circle. And for miles the crows shrieked and small children cowered, for the matchmaker had made a decision…

"You." He pointed and she continued to cower beneath the coffee table, reduced to wielding a small ball point pen as her only means of defense. "Will come with me. There much work to do. I make you proper woman your mother did not! Mrs. Tuti promise challenge! I beat odds!"

He grasped her by the arm and hauled her to her feet, dragging her into the hallway and down to the waiting taxi, as if she was some form of livestock.

**In the middle of a dark alleyway, some time later…**

Cissnei was not sure what unnerved her more, being manhandled through downtown Midgar by an old man, or the fact that she was a level four hundred Turk late for work with no means of calling for help. She glanced around the dark alleyway in slight discomfort of what it was Master Yeng might have decided to pair her up with.

"Mr. Yeng," she pleaded. "I'm sure we could work this out if-"

He struck her with his cane and continued walking. "Hobo husband up ahead. You walk like confused chocobo again."

Husband? The words haunted the young Turk as she watched the approaching shadow emerge from a stack of crates.

"This is the last time I call an internet dating service!" His brown eyes narrowed in surprise. "Hot damn! I got a hot chick this time!"

Master Yeng pointed to the young man leaning against the damp wall matter-of-factly. "He big."

"That's Biggs old man!"

"Yeah yeah. That what they all say. This Cricket. She on market for hobo husband."

"Now wait just a-" There was the click of metal ensnaring her wrist and she backed away in surprise, nearly carrying the unfortunate young man with her. "Oh dear Holy, Leviathan, Meteor, Shiva."

Biggs held his hand up in equal shock. "Aw shit. You set me up with a cop, again, didn't you."

"That's Turk buddy." Cissnei corrected with distaste.

"It's Biggs!"

"Whatever."

Master Yeng bowed politely with an evil twinkle in his eyes and held the key up for both to see. "You complete sacred dance of matrimony now that you tethered by magical love cuffs. By midnight, you man and wife, and have many happy babies together. Now. I go get frozen gelatin and see gay play."

He waddled into the shadows and whistled for the taxi, leaving both Turk and ruffian standing in the alleyway, handcuffed together.

"So," Biggs tried to back away slowly as the irate Turk struggled desperately to pick the lock with no success. "What exactly did you say your name was again?"

Cissnei scowled. "If I told you my real name, I'd have to kill you and throw you to the fan girls desperate to accept anything. Now shut up and help me find a way to get these off before that psycho man gets back here."

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Will the boys be able to handle a whole day unsupervised? Will Cissnei find a way to escape the wrath of Master Yeng? Will Reeve be the Janitor's first victim? Will Vincent EVER get his book?**

**Tune in next time folks!**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	69. Special Operation Antenna

**Ladies and gentlemen, the Muse is proud to present to you a very special mock-u-mission in honor of the official 'transition' from analog to digital television. Before I hear the jeers and insults to my intelligence about preparation time and yadda yadda yadda you will be pleased to know that the Muse's useless converter box and shiny high class antenna (as recommended for our area by the official site mind you) have found happy new homes as a proud coaster and a very shiny stuffed animal hammock hanger, as where I live, these all too superior digital signals are too weak for any and all signals to reach in a viewable manner no matter how good the antenna. Must be the pines trees. But all is not lost folks, for now the Muse may continue to update her missions on a timely basis and spend her time entertaining you. Without further ado, I present to you the first ever official mock-u-mission to grace the mission files…Hopefully, you'll at least get a chuckle out of it. ;)**

**Special Operation Antenna**

There was something amiss at Shinra Corporation. Something about the group of two men and a woman in scorched midnight blue suits was indeed an oddity to the usually upbeat atmosphere of Goblin's Bar. The bartender regarded them out of curiosity. It was not often that much of anything limped, staggered, and hobbled into the building before three o'clock in the afternoon, least of all Turks.

But Rude didn't care. At this point, all he wanted was to drink away his problems and assist in helping the two unfortunate Turks seated beside him in drinking away the memories of earlier today.

"It just came out of nowhere man," Reno trembled, cowering against the female Turk who could barely hold her glass steady and hadn't even bothered to button her blazer since the incident. "All them funny little boxes. Gods. It was terrible."

"Thirteen thousand hit points per pixel," she whispered. "Level infinity…"

"Calm down." Rude spat, his own confidence rattled.

"But," Reno adjusted tried to remain calm. "We never stood a chance. And Reeve-"

He began crying over the fate of their unfortunate engineer. Elena played with the bar peanuts out of sympathy. Reeve truly was the bravest human being on the planet. He would go down as a legend in Shinra Inc.

**Yesterday evening, 11:30 PM. **

**Location: Corporate Boardroom**

Cissnei sat in the presence of idiots for a second time that day, paperwork in hand and trying to figure out just why in the heck she had received a critical matter of national security-like phone call from the president himself to bring her to this point.

She looked around the mahogany table at the other unfortunate souls drawn into this 'emergency' meeting, wondering why she had even bothered to pick up the phone. It was not often she saw Reeve with a cup of coffee and looking like he was about to fall asleep at his station at the table. Then again, it was not often she was put in charge to handle Tseng's affairs while he was out of town either.

"I'm an glad you could all make it to this meeting," President Shinra addressed the troops and repeatedly pointed to a folded up science fair board yet to be disclosed to the public. "I've a grave matter of security that requires the utmost attention for the sanity of all who call this place home."

Cissnei glanced around the table at the other executives, wondering just how Tseng managed to handle this on a daily basis sanely. From what she could see, Scarlet and Heidegger were involved in a high level of hangman while Palmer continued to try to color within the lines of a new coloring book. From the look of it, he had broken the third blue crayon he owned again and was now using lard to fill in the blanks. She shuddered at the thought, promising to demote herself immediately following the meeting should she survive. She could already feel her IQ slipping into the vortex created by their presence.

Rufus stood up and slammed his hands against the table. "Allow me, father. Hojo! Show them the crisis!"

Hojo nodded grimly, if that was even possible, and pointed the sparkly duct-taped, cardboard magic wand at the science fair display. Several scribbled images, no doubt Palmer's handiwork, filled its surface.

"As you can all see, this specimen is different than the others. It spreads through our walls and infests our most prized possession - the television." A collective series of gasps filled the room. Hojo continued to nod and do a weird sort of jig in place. "As you can all see, by twelve o'clock tomorrow afternoon, it will have infested the entire city, taking out not only the Shinra International News Network, but also our most prized network show-" the wand struck the board forcefully. "Soap operas."

"B-but, what will we watch while waiting for our minions to get back?" Scarlet shrieked.

"Oh god," Lazard crewed on his fingernails in horror. "What will I use to keep the Fair boy's attention while trying to paper train him!"

"Sir," Cissnei pointed to the diagram. "According to our records, we've known about this for years now-"

The wand struck the folder in front of her, making her scramble out of the way to avoid being kicked by Hojo as he clambered onto the table. "Ladies and gentlemen, what we have here is an acute case of Digi-itus."

He began to poke her forehead with the wand and she seriously considered throwing her shuriken at him. "She has been corrupted and brainwashed into believing the loss of TV is a good thing! We must operate immediately and remove the parasite!"

Reeve raised an eyebrow as the auburn-haired Turk, quite literally, made a wild, half hearted attempt at dashing for the doorway, only to be tackled to the ground by Palmer. Apparently Tseng had neglected to inform her that there was a high chance Hojo would try to dissect whichever Turk appeared to represent them.

He sighed and set his coffee back down. "Wait! She's not an alien."

"But _how _do you _know_?" Lazard shrieked in horror. "How do you know!"

Cissnei winced. Aliens? Hadn't they already solved the case of the drunken SOLDIERs naked in Modeoheim with flare guns case already? Palmer was hauled to his feet by Heidegger and Scarlet.

"Because, ah," Reeve adjusted his tie and helped her up. "She's, ah, mastered their technology you see. And, well, Tseng would not have chosen her to handle this while he-"

"I knew it!" Hollander stood up. "He went back to his home planet! I knew this was going to happen! We're all gonna die!"

Again, Reeve found a very confused gaze upon him as the female Turk struggled to figure out just what in the hell was going on.

"We're not going to die," Reeve assured them. "This is why you hired her. It's her job to help you sort out your tech problems."

"Oh?" Lazard paced in front of her, scrutinizing her from head to toe. "And just what makes you any less of an alien that we should trust you?"

Cissnei paled. Since when was sorting out the entire Shinra Corporation's technical issues her responsibility?

"She's the only one who knows how to program the staff lounge VCR," Reeve deadpanned. Immediately, every eye was upon her in deep respect. "Cissnei. The floor is yours now."

"So, what exactly are you having problems with again?" She looked over the crude drawings in great puzzlement. It appeared to be Lazard being electrocuted while playing with a ninja version of Mickey Mouse.

"The parasite that's going to doom us all tomorrow!"

"You know, Sir, with all due respect, I thought Shinra Corporation was leading this switch to all digital television?"

President Shinra struggled to maintain his composure as he tripped over a chair while trying to flee from the boardroom. "We never agreed to it! You can't make us!"

"Um, but you know you all voted on this and signed an agreement with Junon and Mideel five years ago right? Mideel converted last year with no problems…"

Well, the having several palm trees explode at random intervals of time was starting to become a rather profitable tourist attraction as of late. It couldn't be much worse than Mako, right?

"But this is us and this is now! We'll never be ready in time!"

Cissnei grumbled under her breath and strongly considered quitting her job for the millionth time that week. These people were hopeless.

"All right. Calm down. We'll fix the problem. All we need is a converter box and a good antenna to receive the signals with and you should be able to watch your soaps."

She was met with several looks of confusion and sighed. Being a Turk was not easy. "Fine. I'll get working on it right away, Sir."

And Shinra Corporation's Television problem was solved…

**This Morning: 9:00 A.M.**

**Location: Turks' Lounge**

Reeve sipped his coffee and once again continued to stare at the empty desk which had at one point belonged to one very irritated auburn-haired female Turk. As he continued to watch and wait, he began to wonder just what cruel force of nature could possibly have made her, the most important person of the day, late for work by more than three hours.

"Morning Reeve!" Reno halted, eyes narrowing at the vacant desk in front of him. "Hey, where's 'Nei?"

"I want to know the same thing. The last of the sane world needs her today to fix the DTV thing for Shinra's finest."

"They haven't done that yet?" He raised an eyebrow in a very unReno-like manner. "Dude, all ya gotta do is hook up a little box and you're good. I'm surprised Hojo didn't dissect it."

Reeve sighed. Nothing was ever that simple when in the company of morons. "Hey, where's Vincent this morning?"

"Dunno. He's probably-" Reno's eyes widened in horror. "You think he and 'Nei-"

Reeve stared at his coffee, wondering if it was possible he could somehow drown in it and put himself out of his own misery. "Realized they were still sane and ran away? No. She's probably running late. Okay. Don't panic. Here's what we're going to do. Reno, get Rude and Elena. We're going to go make sure President Shinra's TV survives the switchover."

**This morning: 10:45 A.M.**

**Location: Presidential Suite**

Elena sat cross-legged on the floor, pondering the series of instructions spread across the floor before the small group of confused males.

"It's a box. Big deal." Reno responded and casually toyed with the antenna out of boredom.

"Yeah," Rude adjusted his shades and picked up a long black wire with a Mr. Yuk sticker on it. "Looks simple enough."

"Then let's do this and get it over with then," Reeve spat, cranky as he adjusted the antenna for the millionth time and tossed the cable to the red head, who proceeded to hook it into the box and connect it to the TV in question.

Elena picked up the remote and switched the device on.

The box flickered several times, as though gauging the Turks' combat skills. A feminine voice filled the air.

"_Thank you for choosing EZ Electronics for all your Vegetative Needs. To begin your journey into the digital world, please input the five digit code included on the back of the manual_."

Reno help up the manual and faced the box. "Alright yo. 1234."

The box flickered. "_I'm sorry. I did not understand you. Please repeat the code_."

"1234," he growled, watching as the box flashed an angry red color.

"_I'm sorry. I did not understand that form of idiot. Please try again with an IQ greater than that of a coconut_."

Reno raised an eyebrow and pointed speechlessly to the box as Reeve nearly dropped the antenna in surprise. Had the converter box just insulted them?

Rude took control of the remote and stood before the box. "The code is 1234."

"_Sorry, Baldy. I did not comprehend your code. It is incorrect. Grow some hair and try again_."

Elena grabbed the manual from the bald man, who sobbed quietly in the corner.

"It's 1234 you miserable piece of plastic," she snapped, trying to sound as assertive as possible.

The box blinked in boredom. "_And you are a sad, sad, under leveled little blonde. Thank you for choosing EZ Electronics for all of your Vegetative needs-"_

Reeve snatched the pamphlet and slammed a fist against the top of the box. "Look, whatever you are. The code is right here! 1234. See. Right here! Now program damn it!"

The box shook violently and whirred a horrific squeal. Reeve froze, paler than a sheet as a series of tiny remote controls fired like tiny missiles from the front of the box, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

The Turks backed away in horror as the box's cables snared the antenna and used it for leverage, effectively climbing out of reach and settling upon the top of the TV, firing remote controls at random. _"You are not worthy of the Digital World! Entering Turk Elimination Mode now…"_

"Elena…" Rude sobbed and rubbed his bald head to deflect a remote.

"I bought it where you bought yours! It's the same brand! I swear!"

"Yo, Rude, we gotta take it out before it takes us out!"

Reeve frantically reached for his PHS, but a series of flashing pixels consumed him in a wave of light. "If only we had a person who could speak blinking box! She would pick today to miss work!"

Reno's PHS shrilled rather violently in response.

"_The box will now self-destruct in five, four, three, two…"_

Reno glanced down at his ringing PHS and recognized the number. "Yo. What's up?"

"_Reno!" _Cissnei sounded frantic. _"Thank Holy! I need your help!"_

Reno balanced the phone against his ear and held the EMR level with the box. "I'm kinda busy here 'Nei."

"_No! Don't hang up the ph-_" But Reno had already hung up and proceeded to stare down his foe, flanked by the horrified looks of Rude, Elena, and Reeve, who glanced at the silent PHS in despair.

"All right. Let's do this!" He raised the EMR high into the air. "_GLADIATOR_!"

**Present time: 2:45 P.M.**

**Location: Goblin's Bar**

Rude downed another bottle of scotch and glanced at the dwindling bar peanuts with great sympathy. The blonde woman would be scarred for life and probably locked away if an expert saw the designs being formed by the peanuts.

"Why do you keep looking at me?" Reno grumbled and sipped his whisky dejectedly.

"You know why," Rude scowled. "The _one _person who probably could have threatened that box into submission calls and _you _hang up the phone on her. Where was she anyway?"

"Don't know. She didn't really say." Reno glanced around the bar for Reeve. "What's taking him so long anyway. I really gotta go yo."

**Goblin's Bar, bathroom…**

The janitor snickered and tossed the lone roll of toilet paper into the air before catching it, listening with a hint of pride and cruel satisfaction as the poor unfortunate engineer all but screamed bloody murder from his prison within the stall.

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**It's five o'clock. Do you know where your Turks are? **

**Be sure to tune in next time folks. Admit it, you're curious.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	70. Mission 70 Operation Order Up

**Heh heh heh. Due to the availability of Turks being sparse lately, ladies and gentlemen, our regular scheduled programming will be temporarily interrupted with a short, healthy alternative that will hopefully bring a smile to your face at the expense of another (It's not really what you think folks…Dis! Mind out of the gutter right now or I'll send Kiba to chew on your sneakers!) Enjoy this fun snippet mission while the Muse goes to round up our favorite Turks for the next one. ; )**

**Mission Seventy - Operation Order Up**

There were times in a middle-aged Turk's life when this sort of behavior was not only appropriate, but a necessity in order to survive. Tseng smiled to himself as he watched the spectacle with childish fascination, wondering just how he had managed to get through most of his adult life without this particular sort of pleasure.

"See something you like?" the voice startled him and he blushed, trying to regain his dignity at being surprised so easily.

"Er, yes, actually. You see, I'm-"

"You're not from around here, are you?" The young woman smirked and adjusted her apron as Tseng struggled to come up with a good excuse as to why he was staring.

Like the _leader_ of the Turks needed to really explain himself, he grumbled in the back of his mind and once again looked at the woman behind the counter. "Actually, I'm on vacation for the first time in twenty two years. I was wondering if I could have a little bit of sugar?"

"Oh, you don't want that kind," she smiled sweetly. "A man of your caliber deserves something a little more exotic."

Tseng blushed and adjusted his tie uncomfortably at the words. "No, no. Just regular is fine. I'm not here for anything terribly exciting."

"You don't know what you're missing, hun."

"My name is Tseng," he corrected automatically and the young woman shook her head at his antics.

"You really do need a vacation. Come on, live a little bit for a change. It's not like you have to be anywhere for a while, right? Let me show you a good time while you're here."

The Turk paled slightly, praying that the blush coating his face was from the cold and not from embarrassment. "I need to think about it for a while if that's okay with you."

She shrugged at his hesitance. "Take your time. I'll be here when you're ready."

Tseng smiled and stepped over to the fireplace to warm his near-frozen hands. Why was this so hard? He grimaced at the thought that nagged at the back of his mind.

_Am I, really that old?_ He bowed his head in defeat and sat down in the recliner closest to the fireplace in defeat. Well, he assured himself, it had been more than ten years since he'd experienced such a tasty treat as what the waitress was offering him. And he had been faced with the daily antics of two of the youngest Turks in Shinra's history, one of which needed anger management and the other, well, Reno just fell into a category of his own that no one quite knew how to handle. That alone would put even the most practiced of Turk out of shape no matter what.

"So," the young woman sat down beside him, just as cheerful as ever. "Make up your mind yet?"

"Lady," he replied in exasperation and with a sense of weariness that could not be matched. "You have no idea how important this vacation is to me. It's probably the last I'll ever have."

"Ah," she nodded matter-of-factly. "Escaping from the wife and kids. Gotcha. I know just the thing-"

"They're not my children," he groaned in annoyance. "I'm just paid to keep them from putting pencils in their eyes and gluing their heads to their desks, which is a full time job in itself."

"Single parent eh? Well, I've got just the trick for that too."

Tseng raised an eyebrow. "Good god no woman! I'm not married."

"Even better."

And Tseng strongly considering just abandoning all hope and heading for the nearest bar he could find. "Listen. I just want to try a small sample of the regular local delicacy first. If I like it, I'll go for something more exotic."

"You got it sweetheart. I'll be right back."

**Over by the fake moose head on the wall…**

Angeal lowered the newspaper and propped his boots up on the small coffee table with the faintest hint of a smirk. "Best assignment I've ever been on."

Sephiroth glared and flipped to the comics. "Watching the alpha male of the Turks try to order a bowl of the famous Modeoheim Thousand Flavor Taste of the World Ice Cream is not how I expected to spend my weekend."

"Hey," Angeal jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. "We were all like that when we were younger ourselves. At least it's better than Genesis's assignment."

**Somewhere, on Ebay….**

He smirked and rubbed his hands together in evil glee, watching his prize like a hawk. "All right **_LoVeLeSsAdDiCt272_**, prepare to be ousted of your prize! That limited edition lost chapter is mine!"

He clicked bid and watched as the auction drew to a close. "Wait, what? No! Curse you _**TinyBroncoMan**_. I'll find you! You cannot steal the gift of the goddess from me for long!"

**Back in Modeoheim… **

Tseng smiled to himself and watched the flames nip at the logs in their grasp, a gentle snow falling outside the log cabin windows.

"It's actually better than I thought it would be."

The young woman smiled and pointed to the sprinkles. "The secret's in the whipped cream and sprinkles. Best hot fudge on the planet too. Now see, wasn't this worth a try?"

Tseng nodded. Perhaps some time away from his minions was what he needed after all.

His PHS shrilled violently from his pocket, startling him and almost sending the bowl of ice cream onto the floor.

He did not notice the two SOLDIERs holding their newspapers up quickly to hide as he retrieved it and took one look at the number displayed upon the screen. Since when did Cissnei bother to actually call his personal phone? She knew he was on vacation this week. He sighed.

And for the first time in twenty two years, Tseng turned the phone off. His minions would be fine on their own for a while. He was sure of it.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Will Cissnei _ever_ manage to actually get someone to pick up their phone? Will Rude ever stop blushing? And, the janitor claims his second victim…**

**Tune in next time folks! Ya'll know you're somewhat curious. **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill :)**


	71. Mission 71 Operation Desperation

**Because Biggs just doesn't get enough time in the spotlight…Do not ask why I chose the current occupation I did for Biggs at the moment. It was a dare, honestly! All you really need to know was that there was A LOT of bribery cookies involved. Mmmm. Frosted oatmeal… : ) Anyway, enjoy this fun mission folks and the Muse is seriously hoping to transfer her motivation that's currently got her working on her other fic to this one so you may see a second, much better humor-wise round of updates soon. Maybe even a double feature weekend is in the cards, depending on the quality of cookies and availability of gummy bears…Dunno yet. Enjoy folks.**

**Mission Seventy One - Operation Desperation**

As a man of the road, there were few things in life Biggs had seen that could strike absolute terror into a man's heart, soul, and quite possibly his very ability to be a man. He'd spent many a fine hour giving passenger's near heart attacks as he switched lanes to cut off the rivals, been the bane of many fine insects to land upon his windshield, and even terrified many innocent students who had been assigned to learn the 'correct' rules of the road in a place like Midgar.

He could drive the Sector Five Express Beltway for Holy's sake and it barely phased him while most other taxi drivers fainted in dramatic horror. Truth be told, it took a god-awful lot to terrify a man of Biggs's stature. But, as he watched the battered and abused PHS soar through the air, strike the nearest wall with incredible accuracy and land back upon the sidewalk, only to be retrieved by the enraged female tethered to his wrist, Biggs could not help but wonder what he had done to deserve such a hell as this.

_I swear for as long as I live from now on_, he vowed, _that I shall forever use my turn signals when changing lanes and keep horn honkage and cussing at the little old lady in front of me to a minimum._

"Can no one pick up their damn phones today?" She flipped through the directory in the surprisingly still-working mobile phone, making a mental note that the first thing she was going to do when she got back to the office was belittle the men and swear at the female. The golden rule was to _always _answer your phones, unless it was Reno calling. Then it was optional. "Never around when I actually need them."

Biggs leaned against the wall with a sigh. "So, ah-Cricket is it?"

She pinned him to the wall with a swift elbow to the ribs. "The fan girl threat still stands buddy. And trust me, we Turks have an extensive base to draw from. You cannot even begin to imagine how quickly your dignity can be destroyed."

He smirked and pointed to the handcuffs. "No offense, but you're the one who is currently handcuffed to me."

She knocked him to the ground with a swift kick. "Go ahead. Keep talking buddy."

He rubbed the back of his knee with a noticeable flinch, pondering if maybe this was the great Taxi God's way of getting back at him for raising the fairs last week. He tried to back away in terror, but the handcuffs stopped him. "My name's Biggs…"

She muttered something under her breath and glared at the PHS in her hands. "Listen, whoever you are. Right now is not a good time for this to happen-"

"That bad eh?" he placed his hands behind his forehead, nearly jerking the phone out of her hands. "Well, I wouldn't sweat the details. It's not like they need your supervision all of the time, right?"

She paled and threw the PHS at him, striking him in the shoulder. "You underestimate the power of the unsupervised, ring leading idiot. They can't even brew a pot of _instant _coffee without destroying half of the building."

The young man flinched as the young woman took a seat beside him in despair. Who knew being a Turk was so tough? And then, like all men at the top of their game, an idea came to mind to mind. Perhaps he could use to his advantage after all.

He touched her shoulder gently with a sinister smile. "Hey, it's not the worst thing that ever happened."

"No," she replied, eyes narrowed in frustration. "Being chained to another idiot who thinks he's got a chance with me is."

Biggs paled and scrambled out of range as she nearly dragged him into a standing position. "Hey. All I did was call the service lady!"

"Shut up."

"Look," he pretended to be as innocent as humanly possible, as his life depended upon it. "We both have a vendetta against an old man."

"He's not just an old man," she snapped. "He's _the _old man. And unless we find a way to get these handcuffs off - well, let's just say you really don't want to know what sort of things will happen to you. The fan boys don't take kindly to less than cannon characters like yourself."

"All right. All right. I might know a guy who can help us. We'll need to get to the slums though…"

"Fine. I'll drive us there. You just shut up and if anyone asks, I arrested you for a parking violation."

"You can do that?"

She glared. "Or, I could just say I caught you trying to steal Sephiroth's personal, passion fruit body lotion. I won't even need to explain the handcuffs then."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, I definitely would."

He paled, imagining just what sort of hell would be wrought upon him if that rumor ever reached the Associated Lair of the Incredible Delusional Fan Girl Stalker Association Headquarters. No one ever stole any of Sephiroth's personal belongings and lived to tell the tail.

"You are the most evil being on the planet."

"Should have thought about that before you decided you wanted to marry me."

"He really uses passion fruit body lotion?"

"And key lime shampoo, but I'd rather not talk about it."

Biggs snickered and followed her through the alleyway for three blocks until they once again stood outside of her apartment.

"Whoa," Biggs marveled at the rather ancient, yet remarkable motorcycle parked neatly in its parting space. "This is one of those original older, relic models. You don't see these around too often."

"A friend of mine helped me restore it some time ago. Believe it or not, it used to be powder pink."

"Ouch. It's got a nice dent on the sidecar though," Biggs examined the blemish to the vehicle as Cissnei sighed. What was it about men and motorcycles. So long as it got her from point A to point B and possibly C and back again she was happy. Who cares if the model was older than most.

"Yeah," she grumbled. "Some jackass of a taxi driver cut me off at the corner of Eighth down by Goblin's Bar a couple of months ago. Haven't had time to actually run the plates yet, but when I do-"

Biggs paled and began to tremble.

**Turks' Lounge, sometime that afternoon…**

Vincent Valentine peered down at his foe in disbelief, watching its ceramic surface bob and sink in the clear water without so much as a second thought. For a moment, he clutched the empty bottle of Mr. Dirt Buster, a distant part of him knowing the battle had become futile.

He shook the bottle once more in despair, watching as the water remained suds-less, the incredible power of the dirt continuing to ensnare his precious coffee cup without so much as a merciful half hearted attempt at letting up. The stoic Turk glanced around the lounge in frantic search of the spare bottle.

He rooted through the cupboard like a wild animal, his heart thundering in his chest. Only cobwebs met his frantic plea, the bottles empty of any dirt busting power.

Vincent Valentine fell to his knees with a wail of agonizing horror, the coffee cup unsanitary for even the most immortal being to use.

And somewhere, in the shadows, a dark presence watched the spectacle, clutching the full bottles of Mr. Dust Buster with sinister snickers.

**Outside of the lounge at that very moment…**

Rude clutched his PHS in one hand and a small slip of paper in the other as the howl of a stoic Turk in despair filled the corridor. The bald one sighed and shook his head. Whatever Vincent's currently problem was could wait. There were even bigger issues to contend with at the moment.

Issues that could rearrange the ranking of the Turks for years to come.

He stepped into his office and locked the door, dialing an all-to-familiar number and tapping the slip of paper against the surface of his desk impatiently.

"_Yo. Whatcha need, Rude?"_ The voice on the other end of the line responded, the echo of what sounded like a bunch of chimps throwing bananas in the background.

"Reno," he whispered, his hand trembling as he reread the slip of paper for the eighteenth time. "I need your opinion on something."

"_Yeah?" _

"Er, well," Rude blushed and quickly rechecked the slip of paper against the text message that has landed in his inbox a short time ago, detailing, with no mincing of words, just how furious a certain female Turk was with her coworkers at that very moment and that she immediately needed him to retrieve a special book for her until she could get back to the office. "You probably shouldn't have hung up on Cissnei when she called. I think she might have been having a bit of a mid-life crisis…"

"_Again?"_

"This is much worse," Rude adjusted his shades.

"_Well, how bad is it yo?" _

"Cissnei's little black book. Where does she keep it?"

There was an abrupt gasp on the opposite line and the crash of a squealing chimps. And Rude knew, that he had crossed into the threshold of the biggest taboo the Department of Administrative Research could ever lay claim to.

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Some taboos are just begging to be broken…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	72. Special Operation Little Black Book Pt 1

**I just want to say, what would 4****th**** of July weekend be without an misfit adventure or two. ;) Cookies to anyone who can figure out what the Muse FINALLY got accomplished on this fic a whole year later...Enjoy and have a good one folks!**

**Special Operation Little Black Book Part One**

Over her brief career as a Turk in Training, Elena has seen quite her share of unusual rituals performed by many of the Turks she shamefully admitted to being privileged to work alongside. For example, she had witnessed the mad morning dash for the last frosted donut, followed shortly by the ceremonial spilling of the orange juice over said victorious Turk's head, only to end with the traditional use of the phoenix down to revive whichever unfortunate human being-turned-ravaging sugar-holic back into normal semi-normal Turk mode.

But _this _was just an oddity she wasn't even certain she _wanted _to know the origins of.

For a few moments, she merely chose to stand halfway between the doorway and the Turks' lounge, watching the unusual gathering with a mixture of both grave concern over the sanity of the people she worked with and somewhat amusement. It wasn't often blackmail material was presented so easily.

They sat seated around the coffee table in the darkened lounge, a series of blueprints and wide assortment of everything from phoenix downs to elixirs to even a cornucopia spread out across the table's surface in what appeared to be the shape of a moomba. She blinked and raised an eyebrow as Rude adjusted a canary yellow bathrobe around his large frame and sighed, nudging a potion into place.

Reno snatched the potion and raised an antidote in its place, the purple and passion pink daisy curtains he had shanghaied from the window above the sink and managed to form a rather amusing robe out of fluttering at the motion. With a proud smirk, he adjusted the paper crown from Chocobo King atop his red hair and gestured to the candle Reeve struggled to light from the far corner.

"Um, guys," Elena knocked upon the doorframe to make her presence known. "Am I interrupting something?"

Reno once again tried to secure the paper crown as it slid forward to obscure his vision. "Only important life or death stuff, Laney. If you promise not to shed your feminism on what is strictly a male right of passage, you may stay and watch. Reeve! Bring forth thy holy tome of manhood!"

"Must I?" the unfortunate engineer rolled his eyes and struggled to prevent the blonde Turk in the doorway from seeing the smiley face briefs he wore with nothing else.

"Come on. The tome man. We need the tome!"

Rude grunted and continued to glance at the piece of paper clutched in his hand with mild amusement and the faintest traces of absolute terror. There was just no way any of this could be real. No way one little requested book could be the root of their demise…

"Here," The engineer sighed and flipped open the rather large, flamboyant yellow and black striped book entitled, _The Keeping It Stupidly Simple Complete Idiots Guide to Basic Taboo Breaking_ before handing it to Reno. "Knock yourself out."

Reno crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. "What's that, my slave?"

Reeve shot Elena a look of pure anguish and held the book above his head. "Great Dungeon Master, I present thee with thy holy tome of manhood. Now can I have my socks and some of my dignity back, please? I have a meeting in an hour!"

"Not until the ritual is over, and Rude rolls a three and a one. Come on Big Guy. We know you can do it."

The bald one grumbled under his breath and tossed the dice once more, watching as they pathetically tumbled off of the table.

"What are you doing anyway?" Elena inquired curiously.

"Shhh," Reno held up a hand for silence and grabbed the candle. "You're polluting the natural male powers that be in this ritual with your womanly presence. Aw, come on Rude! Roll a three already so we can go figure out if our suspicions are right about 'Nei!"

"Um, guys?" Elena chirped, somewhat lost in thought and beyond puzzled over the reactions of her co-workers and one brief slip of paper ordered by text message. "How about we simply call her back and ask what she wanted to talk to us about?"

"Do not anger the Dungeon Master."

Reeve glared and wrestled a sock onto his foot. "I find it disturbing that you consider yourself the Dungeon Master when you've always been a mere cl-"

Reno tackled the unfortunate engineer with a Silence spell. "No one needs to know about that!"

Rude stood up and promptly threw the dice against the wall angrily, watching as they turned up as snake eyes for the tenth time that afternoon.

Reno grabbed the 'tome' and began flipping through it in annoyance. "Let's see. We'll put Reeve in the Box of Humility until he rolls a three and a one in your stead, while you assist me in finding the Coveted Secret Tome of Life and Death. It says here we should check all available desk drawers and hiding places for booby traps and unintentional hexes."

Reeve made a rather crude protesting gesture of his a certain middle finger as Reno kicked him into the corner and tossed him the dice and unsilenced him.

"But my meeting-"

"Do not mock the power of the almighty Box of Humility!" Reno warned and rammed the crown back atop his forehead while reading the book aloud. "Now. Without further ado, present the Regal Scepter of Damnation above the glyph to reveal the path to the next level."

Rude shrugged and grabbed the empty paper towel cardboard tube, holding it high above his head.

"Where's the paper towels yo?"

Rude shrugged.

"Oh well. Behold! As I touch the Flame of Deliverance to the watchamacallit that a path is revealed."

Elena sighed, watching as the paper towel roll erupted in flames, catching the bottles of potions in their light and sending a strict beam of rainbow light straight into Reeve's eyes.

"Screw this," Reno tossed the paper towel roll into the sink and grabbed the flashlight. "I say we raid her locker."

"But, Reno!" Rude protested in horror. "The Taboo!"

"Oh yeah? What's the worst that can happen yo? Besides, the first law of breaking a taboo of this caliber states that the one who suggested it pays the price, not the one carrying it out."

Rude and Elena exchanged glances and hurried after the red head, leaving Reeve in his invisible box to roll a three and a one all by his lonesome.

**Cissnei's office, 4:30 P.M.**

There were only two things Elena could stake a one hundred percentile odds of outcome on: the french fries in the cafeteria making one ill or as close to a mutant as possible a short time after attempting to consume them and the fact that when, or if, Cissnei ever returned to this particular room in the Shinra Building, there was going to have to be a rather interesting explanation to Tseng as to why all of his Turks ended up assassinated.

"Guys-" She backed away with some semblance of uncertainty as Reno grabbed the desk drawer and proceeded to pour all of its contents onto the floor while Rude began rooting through them like a starving raccoon.

"Not now, Laney. We're in the middle of an important investigation."

"Investigation?"

"Damn it," Reno glanced around, tossing a stapler across the room and nearly knocking the small rock garden off of the desk. "It's not here."

"What are you looking for?"

"The sacred guide to all of the world's women's deepest, darkest, secrets…" Rude managed to mutter.

"Her diary?" Elena managed to venture a guess, uncertain of whether or not a Turk like Cissnei would even bother to keep something that private in a desk drawer where human male idiots could easily access it.

"Better," Reno overturned a parcel of red pens and a stack of important looking papers. "Her little black book."

Elena nearly fainted at the words and looked around in horror. "B-but, you can't look at that!"

"Why not? That is what all of you females keep your superior secrets to controlling all of the world's men in, right?"

"But, it's _the _little black book! Have you ever seen Cissnei without it?"

"Which is why we have to find it yo! There's got to be something in there she doesn't want us to know! Why else would she not want us to see it?"

"You two are-" Elena's eyes trailed to the slip of paper Rude handed to her. "Ouch. You're right. We need to see the contents of that book."

Reno stood up and dusted himself off. "Hmmm. It's not here. That leaves only one place and one person who knows where it could be. Rude. Go get the incredibly insane and overly cliché torture device. This one won't talk unless we make him."

**SOLDIER Floor 5:00 P.M...**

For the first time in a long time, he found himself doing an important job for his superiors. Smiling and whistling a happy little tune, he turned the corner with the stack of recently signed papers in hand and a glint of marginal hope that someday he might become something more than a temporarily filler NPC character like that unfortunate engineer kept locked up on the Turks' Floor. He shuddered at the thought and glanced down at the paperwork.

Yes, he silently vowed. He would not become like Mr. Tuesti no matter how much abuse he had to endure. If he could so much as stand beside Sephiroth as the token filler character, or even the less than tradable joker collector card in the SOLDIER Trading Card Booster packs, he could die a happy creature.

Out of seemingly nowhere, the fiend struck, knocking him to the ground and sending the papers scattering high into the air in a blinding tornado. He cried out in horror as the fiends seized his wrists and hauled him into the broom closet where a penlight was shone into his eyes.

"We know you know, so you would be wise to tell us what we should know before we have to tell our superior officer what we know you know, ya know yo."

The blue-eyed infantryman blinked stupidly. "Um, I don't know-"

"Quite stalling," Reno growled, looking about as threatening as one adorned in the lounge curtains and wearing a paper crown could. "Tell us what you know."

"I swear!" He waved his hands in an effort to fend off the Turk, stepping backwards and bumping into the canary yellow robe clad Rude. "I don't know anything!"

"We know you're lying. So tell us what we want to know."

Cloud trembled in horror. There was nothing in the handbook about what to do when trapped in the closet with Turks well out of there territory. Zack had told him he would be safe on this floor. It was a Turk-free zone for crying out loud!

"Um-"

The EMR was at his throat in a threatening gesture.

"All right yo. We're gonna do this the hard way then." He glanced at Rude and Elena. "Bring forth the overly cliché torture device!"

Elena shook her head with a sigh as Rude tackled the infantryman and promptly removed both of his boots, exposing feet in desperate need of odor-eaters.

"No!" Cloud begged as the torture device brushed against the bottom of his foot. "Please! Stop! This is inhumane!"

"Should have thought about that before you did what you did."

Cloud howled in agony, struggling to free himself from the oh-so-horribly cliché torture device.

The door swung open, revealing Shinra's most terrifying stylista.

"Hey hey hey!" Lazard grasped the infantryman, dragging him away from the hostile Turks. "You're working all of the emo out of him!"

"Tseng's gonna kill him!" Reno countered, holding the bright blue chocobo feather in warning to the infantryman. "He stepped across Turk territory by stealing 'Nei's little black book."

Elena and Rude exchanged glances as Cloud paled in horror.

"No! Wait! I-"

Lazard raised an eyebrow and shoved the trembling Cloud towards the three Turks. "Just make sure you bring him back in one piece while the warranty's good. Good slaves are hard to come by nowadays."

Cloud howled in horror as the feather brushed against his feet once again, trying to explain through fits of horrified laughter that he did not indeed know the location of said little black book in question.

"Wait a second," Elena pondered aloud as poor Cloud fell into a disturbed trembling fetal position in the corner as Reno and Rude continued the interrogation. "Why would she give the book to him again?"

"Because he's got connections to Fabio."

"I still don't know who in the hell that is!" Cloud protested against his better judgment.

"Just tell us where the book is."

Cloud paled. "She keeps it with her at all times! I swear!"

"That's infantryman for - super secret location otherwise known as her apartment."

Leaving the infantryman lying in a hysterical broken fetal position in the broom closet, the three Turks set off once more on their quest for the little black book…

**Meanwhile, somewhere in Wall Market. **

The problem with being a high ranking Turk was not the fact that it came with danger and death around every corner, not to mention a poor healthcare plan and overly exaggerated temptation to be mocked at every turn; it was the fact that Cissnei could not believe she had allowed a man like Biggs to talk her into something like this.

She stared at the misspelled sign hanging crookedly over the side of the cardboard box turned over to look like a table, her confidence fleeing already.

"Biggs, my man!" the over enthusiastic red head draped an arm around the young man's shoulders, nearly dragging her down with him. "How's life on the Sector Five Beltway and to whom do I owe the pleasure of - holy. You got yourself a fox this time!"

Biggs trembled and pointed to Cissnei. "Johnny, I'd like you to meet Cricket…"

The one known as Johnny whistled and studied the disgruntled Turk with a smile. "I realized the going rate was up slightly, but man, are handcuffs really necessary? I mean, don't get me wrong, I like the idea, but wow, if the chick is this hot-"

Cissnei promptly lashed out and knocked the young man onto the ground, glaring at Biggs in warning that should such a lewd being as Johnny should happen to make one more comment again, he was next.

Biggs nodded in agreement. "Just get these damn things off of us before we both kill each other!"

The obnoxious red head adjusted his specialized spectacles and studied the shackles intently. After several seconds he glanced up at both Turk and taxi driver. "Heh heh. Biggs, my man. Why didn't you say so to begin with! Oh, I can't remove these chains."

Cissnei glared in horror. "What do you mean, 'can't'?"

The red head smirked and pointed to the handcuffs. "These are the work of Master Yeng. Not even the goddess would dare to screw with a marriage ceremony in the works when _he_ is involved..."

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue.**

**I'll let this one up to your imaginations folks! Be sure to tune in. You DON'T wanna miss it! **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : )**


	73. Mission 73 Operation Runaway Bride

**Ugh. The Muse is feeling under the weather, again, no thanks to eating some semblance of what was supposed to be food, but had peppers in it. (The Muse is deathly allergic to peppers.) Hopefully, she'll feel better soon. The good news is that she has a **_**great **_**idea for a series of laugh-out-loud missions that will be written once I manage to round up all of our favorite Turks again into one mission. (Probably in one-two missions at most. This and the last mission didn't go how I wanted them to. Yes, Dis, you **_**will **_**get your fireworks sooner or later. :P It is a matter of the Muse finding a less-than-**_**appropriate **_**use for them…And besides, you can't have fun with fireworks with the SOLDIERs missing now can you? Heh heh heh.) The bad news is, you're stuck with the current rushed, filler mission until I get that far along on the program (yes, you will someday see two **_**good **_**missions a week and I will make this mission and the last up to you.) And now, the hodgepodge pseudo-conclusion to last Friday's Mission…Enjoy folks.**

**Mission Seventy Three - Operation Runaway Bride**

Biggs has always been told that women were odd creatures once thought to be from another far off galaxy where men were held as mere slaves in the daily grind and had only really decided to come to Earth in a direct attempt to compete against other females in a contest of how one controls the male species with her incredible ability to use emotions as a lethal and very much legal method of attack. As he watched the annoyed and very much angry female Turk study the handcuffs with this sort of not quite Bahamut, not quite Ifrit, but something caught in-between temper, he began to realize just why it was the presence of a woman could make a man act like a complete and total moron in his bid to please said member of the opposite sex.

He watched with as much manly dignity as humanly possible as she examined the chain connecting the handcuffs with a stern sense of deep concentration, as though the complexity of the lock required no less than a master's degree in astrophysics with a minor in whoop ass.

It wasn't that Biggs was scared of the woman soon to be his 'wife.' He had passed scared a long time ago. No. Biggs found himself trembling, terrified even of the creature supposed to be a woman who had been chosen to be his lifelong mate by a little old man in boxer shorts and sunglasses.

"You're wasting your time," he dared to challenge her way of doing things. "If Johnny can't get remove these, then nobody but this Yeng guy can."

Cissnei held the Libra level with the handcuffs, awaiting results. "Do not underestimate the power of my Libra."

"But, they're inanimate objects. I don't see how using a piece of whatever that is on them will help."

"Do you really want other females to know that you're afraid of cute, fuzzy kittens, because I can definitely get that information twittered out in public in under an hour."

Biggs paled. "Your Libra's broken."

"Imagine what I could find out if I bothered to replace it," she rolled her eyes with a sigh that told him to quit while he was nowhere close to ahead. "Now shut up and let me work, unless of course, you really want this marriage to go through, in which case, I'm going to be introducing you to the kitten equivalent of the devil and trust me, you don't want me to have to do that."

Biggs grudgingly nodded. "So, did you find out anything useful yet?"

Cissnei nodded and continued to study the Libra, somewhat puzzled at the findings. "Yeah-"

"Ah, there the happy couple!" Both Turk and taxi driver looked up in horror at the foe approaching them with a beaming smile. "Ready become odd soul mates and make happy little Cricket and Hobo babies?"

"Now what?" Biggs looked at the Turk in question.

Cissnei grabbed Biggs by the wrist and bolted for the alleyway. "Just shut up and run."

**Meanwhile, back at Shinra HeadQuarters, 10:30 P.M.**

"Reno, are you sure this is a good idea?" Elena inquired as she watched her less-than-wise comrade root through the youngest Turk's desk drawer in search of a spare keycard that would allow them access to the forbidden territory of Cissnei's apartment.

Reno casually tossed a packet of post-it notes across the desk as Elena retrieved them and tried in vain to reorganize the battlefield of a desk surface. "The very sanity of our comrade depends upon this, Laney. Of course this is a good idea!"

Yes, she thought to herself, when Cissnei got back from wherever it was she had vanished to, the first order of business would probably be to murder all of her former comrades. She shuddered at the thought and glanced down at the piece of paper Rude had handed her a short time before he had decided that Reno could handle his own assassination in the making and went home for the evening.

"I have an even better idea!" Reno scowled and glanced at Elena impishly. "We'll just wait until she gets back and then you can steal the book from her."

"Wait. What? No way, Reno!" the blonde backed away slowly. "She'll kill me!"

"Nah, she won't kill you outright. Probably just wound you. Maybe remove one of your arms. But you'll be okay. She usually gets bored after a couple of hours. Besides, don't you want to know about that book she requested?"

Elena sighed and once again looked at the title of the book. "Okay. Fine. I'll find a way to steal the book. But, I expect a favor in return."

"Anything you want, Laney," he grinned like an idiot. "You'll be doing all of the male species a great favor."

**Cissnei's apartment, 11:15 P.M.**

Biggs wasn't exactly certain just how it was that a short, old man like Master Yeng could hail a taxi cab that quickly and manage to catch up to them in a matter of no less than the time it would have taken a chocobo to complete one lap at the Golden Saucer racetrack, maybe less. But what he _was _certain of, was that the young woman currently dragging him up the steps outside of the apartment complex was obviously caught somewhere between viciously ready to murder the old man and wanting to flee for her life.

Though Biggs was certain it was probably the latter, judging by the way she clutched the Libra and at the speed they reached the apartment.

"What are we going to do about him?"

"Fight to the death if we have to."

"Must we always fight to the death?" Biggs whined. "Can't we just settle this over a game of Go Fish or something? I mean, why does someone always have to be horribly maimed, humiliated, and then end up dead?"

"One. I suck at Go Fish. And Two-" she slammed the apartment door behind them, locking it and managing to push the small table in front of it as a barrier. "I may have found a way to get us out of this. All we have to do is wait for the spell on these handcuffs to wear off and we're free."

"Spell? You mean-"

"He cast reflect on them so I can't cast haste on them to make it any quicker, but around midnight these things should be easier to remove."

Biggs sighed. "Knowing my luck, we'll probably end up turned into pumpkins or something. What are you looking for anyway?"

The auburn-haired Turk sifted through what was formerly a kitchen as the pounding upon the door grew louder.

"Master Yeng know you in there! You no build love nest without proper blessing!"

Holding the ladle much like a sword, she turned to face their foe.

Biggs raised an eyebrow. "You're going to ladle him to death? I always thought you Turks were crazy, but-"

"No. I'm merely going to create a diversion while you get the hell out of my apartment," she growled. "See that window over there?"

Biggs raised an eyebrow and looked down at the handcuffs. There was no way he was going to fit through said window in question. "Yeah?"

"Get ready to run," she warned, the door shaking miserably as the old man fought his way into the living room. "Now!"

"But-" There was a wild, brilliant flash of light and Biggs took off running.

Well, almost.

Master Yeng stormed into the kitchen only to find said ladle-wielding Turk and a rather small, undignified, confused toad glaring up at her in the toad equivalent of utter fury. Cissnei nudged the unfortunate amphibian towards the window with the toe of her shoe, watching as it hopped a few paces and looked back at her.

She sighed and brandished the ladle at the matchmaker.

"Oh. You creative, Cricket. Yes you are. But. Master Yeng even more clever."

Biggs, realizing just what this meant for him, hopped through the air with the finesse of a radiant, respectable animal in utter panic for the window.

There was a blinding flash of light, the young man landing with a disgraceful thud, head-first into the coffee table. Cissnei rubbed her forehead in frustration. Why did she even bother half of the time.

"Ouch," Biggs rubbed his lower back and glared at the young woman. "You didn't say you were turning me into a frog!"

"Toad. You were a toad. I'm not good at frogs. Now hurry up and go!"

Master Yeng knocked aside the soup ladle and grabbed both of them with a critical eye. "This never due. You perfect for one another!"

Biggs laughed nervously. "Yeah, maybe we are."

Cissnei looked at him in shock. "Well, no. He's not-"

"Yes," he jabbed her in the ribs with an impish smirk. "We are. Isn't that what you Wutainese matchmakers favor in a couple?"

The Turk raised an eyebrow and immediately nodded. It had worked for Yuffie, right? Why not Master Yeng?

"You mean, you actually happy?" Master Yeng's eyes widened in shock. "With _him_?"

"It turns out we have more in common than originally thought."

"That very odd. But, hey. Who am I to get in way of sacred ceremony!" Both Biggs and Cissnei exchanged looks of horror. "I now pronounce you Cricket and Hobo. May you have many happy Cricket and Hobo babies and live in big cardboard house."

He slipped a pair of matching rings upon their fingers before either could react and fled through the doorway. "Sacred rings of love stay on until both die. Enjoy long, happy life together!"

**Presidential Suite, 12:01 A.M….**

Rufus Shinra leaned back in the recliner with a sinister smirk about him, a bowl of greasy nachos balanced precariously upon one arm of the chair and a tall glass of some form of sugary carbonated beverage balanced upon the other. He laughed darkly and reached for the overly tempting candy bar he had managed to snag from Heidegger's secret stash earlier that morning. Tonight, he was king of the world.

Yes. He was the king and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Images filled the screen of the battered and abused television. Each flash of vibrant color reflected brightly in his bright blue eyes.

There was simply nothing like watching Junon's Fireworks Celebration on a night like tonight. He laughed and reached for the nachos.

The shadows descended with the ferocity of a band of rabid moombas, knocking the bowl high into the air and seizing his wrist in their talons.

And before he could scream for help, Rufus Shinra was dragged into the shadows…

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Will Elena be able to steal the little black book? Will we ever find out just what the name of the requested book is? Why is Vincent crying in his office? And just what could be important enough for Tseng to abandon his vacation and come back to Shinra? **

**Tune in next time folks.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	74. Mission 74 Operation Reunion

**Well folks. The Muse is hoping you will enjoy this update as she goes back through her fics and spends what little free time she has actually trying to edit them up to standard. It's something that if I don't do now, I probably never will. :P While I'm off doing that, enjoy the latest mission folks. You may start feeling sorry for poor Tseng in three…two…one…**

**Mission Seventy Four - Operation Reunion**

It had happened far too quickly for his senses to accurately register.

One moment, he had been preparing to take a nice, hot shower - complete with complimentary super secret Modeoheim Mint shampoo and conditioner - and the next, two rather odd creatures had managed to not only break down the door to the bathroom, wrestle a towel around his less-than-clothed form, actually managed to haul him out into the frigid cold, and planted him between their anything less than god-like bodies on the awaiting dogsled that was currently en route away from the one safe haven on the planet he had dared to hope no one would care to look for him.

Tseng hugged the towel around his shivering body and glared at the two SOLDIER First Classes currently crowding him between them. "You know, in my country, a simple knock on the door usually works better than barging in and kidnapping a naked man for whatever sick, twisted fan girl dares you seem to have in mind."

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed as he handed the unfortunate leader of the Turks his blazer with a scowl. "You would have run away."

"And just where do you feel that I would have run in this state?" he growled and wrestled his uniform on. It was just not his day. "How long have you sick, twisted Lazard-clones been stalking me anyway?"

Angeal exchanged a look with Sephiroth. "Let's just say that with the photos we've obtained, you won't be blackmailing either of us anytime soon…"

"And with the photo collection we've managed to accumulate over the past two months, I can safely assume whatever it is you have will not be made public anytime soon," Tseng crossed his arms and glared at the peaceful landscape whisking by. "I highly doubt the fan girls could resist a picture of their god-like silver-haired general sleeping in a pair of tiny pink moogle pajamas, cuddling a stuffed chocobo while sucking his thumb."

Sephiroth's eyes widened in shock. "How did you-"

"We have our ways."

Angeal raises an eyebrow. "You really still have those?"

"Shut up," Sephiroth growled. "They're comfortable!"

Tseng snickered as the two SOLDIERs began arguing back and forth amongst themselves, seemingly ignoring his presence.

**Shinra HeadQuarters, Turks' Lounge, 7:00 A.M.**

It was not often that Reno Sinclair found himself staring at the female comrades he dared to call his coworkers. Well, not staring at them as he was this morning. More like the intrigued with a hint of mischief sort of look instead of the typical male lustfulness he had somehow managed to secretly get away with all of these years.

He casually sipped a glass of water and watched as the female Turk stormed into the lounge, strode past him as though he did not exist, completely ignored the boxer-clad, nervous wreck of an engineer frantically trying to roll a three and a one in the corner, and proceeded to brew a cup of spearmint tea.

Elena glanced up from the sheet of paper she had been reading with a look that warned Reno that no, she would not be stealing the little black book this very second, and no, he could not offer her a bribe to even attempt it. She valued every second of her humiliating existence and with the somewhat rough looking female Turk attempting to make a simple cup of tea, her newly developing Turk intuition warned her against even moving.

Reno merely continued to sip his glass of water in response and glanced at Cissnei. "What in the hell happened to you?"

His response was a swift kick in the shin, followed immediately by a sharp punch to the nose, and promptly finished by said cup of tea in question being thrown across the front of his blazer.

"Next time I call you, pick up your damn phone and never, _ever _hang up on me again."

And with that, the infuriated female Turk stormed off towards her office, leaving Reno leaning against the wall and blinking stupidly while Reeve merely stared from the safety of his invisible box. Rude shook his head and sipped his orange juice in amusement.

**Turks' Floor, Corridor, 7:10 A.M.**

Tseng barely had time to move out of the way as Cissnei stormed past with a look that could make even Bahamut Zero cower in terror.

"All right," he crossed his arms and looked around the lounge, spotting Reeve in the corner shaking uncontrollably. Maybe he didn't want to even know. "What did you do?"

"Why does everyone assume that _I_ did it this time?" Reno shrugged and made no effort to even try to dab the tea from his uniform.

"Because your track record and reputation precedes you. Now please, for the love of Holy, pray do tell why I was dragged back here under such dire circumstances."

Though, Tseng was fairly certain that the other shoe was just waiting to fall to crush his tiny little ego by asking such a question, he was certain that worse things may come of it if he chose not to.

Reno proceeded to merely smirk and pointed to the doorway where the youngest Turk had vanished through. "She was the one who took a day off."

The leader of the Turks raised an eyebrow and glared at the youngest Turk's office door. Since when did Cissnei take a day off? Especially when she was _supposed _to be in charge of this ten ring circus during his absence? He found himself glaring at Reno again. Usually, it took quite a bit to remove his second-in-command and he was certain whatever excuse he was about to receive would go down in history as a story noteworthy of a good award.

"What did you do to her?"

"Again, _I _didn't do anything," he snickered and slipped a piece of paper to the leader of the Turks. "Mr. Strife, however-"

Rude sighed and pretended to not be paying attention while Elena and Reeve exchanged glances.

Tseng had just began to glance down at the slip of paper when a whirlwind of pinstripes and blonde hair whisked into the room and nearly tackled him to the floor.

"Oh, Tseng!" Director Lazard shrieked as the Wutainese man struggled to wrestle out of his grasp. "It's horrible! Absolutely horrible!"

The elder Turk grumbled under his breath. When was it not horrible? "Lazard, would you be so kind as to get off of me?"

"But it is horrible! Not even my SOLDIERs can handle a crisis of this proportion!"

Tseng sighed, attempting to read the words on the piece of paper from his spot on the floor while his Turks looked on as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Sure. Let your leader suffer for going on vacation for a few days. Not that SOLDIER wasn't on vacation as well…

The Wutainese man's eyebrow twitched in rage at what was written upon the piece of paper Reno had oh-so-innocently slipped to him. He crawled to his feet like an angry Ifrit. "Cissnei! My office right this second! Rude, Reno. Murder Mr. Strife. Lazard, tell the President I'll meet with him in a few minutes, once I'm done murdering my underlings. Reeve, hurry up and roll that stupid three and one, put some clothing on, and act somewhat respectable. And Elena, get that damn black book the second you are able. _I _want to see just what led to this crisis to begin with. Don't just stand there looking at me like moronic chocobos. Go already!"

And the day officially began.

**The Office of Cissnei Starling, 7:30 A.M.**

Disaster zone was putting it in mild terms. As Cissnei sifted through what remained of her office in horror, she began to wonder just what had prompted such an assault on everything from her stapler to her packet of paperclips and everything in between. She cradled the fortunate rock garden protectively and began picking up the remnants of her career. Someone was going to pay dearly for this.

Her PHS shrilled, making her jump and nearly drop the rock garden in startled fright. She glanced down at the name with a scowl. Vincent, oh so great coward of the wireless age, was _calling _her, when he could just _walk _the ten feet between offices…She set the rock garden back in its spot upon her desk and fished a thick, leather bond book from her briefcase with a sigh.

"What do you want, Vincent?" She began flipping through the book almost casually, skimming the various chapters on how to deal with marriage and looking for any loopholes that could potentially get her out of it. So far, not even the 'Keeping Marriage Stupidly Simple Newlyweds' Guide to Newlyweds' was not helping her situation any.

"_I have a problem." _He practically sobbed on the opposite line.

"I don't want to hear it," she growled, glancing down at the wedding band. "I'm married, thanks to you."

"Cissnei!" Tseng shouted, his heavy footfalls resounding throughout the hallway. She slammed the marriage book closed in panic. All she needed was for him to find out about this.

"_But, you're a woman! I need your help! The guys won't understand!" _

"Look," she frantically scanned her office for a place Tseng would not look for the book. "Vincent. I'd love to help you with your man-issues, but right now-"

"_I'm pregnant!" _

Cissnei froze, the marriage book falling at Tseng's feet with a distinct click and one could have heard a pin drop as she glanced up at her soon-to-be former boss with a look caught somewhere between surprise and absolute dread.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Just how does one explain something of this caliber? Is Vincent really _pregnant_? Will Reeve ever roll that three and a one? Who did kidnap Rufus? **

**Tune in next time folks! **

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill : ) **


	75. Mission 75 Operation Explanation

**Poor Tseng. He just cannot win. Enjoy this fun update folks. I promise the good missions are coming once I set them up with this one. : )**

**Mission Seventy Five - Operation Explanation**

It was a very rare feat for the Leader of the Turks to absolutely find himself at a loss for words regarding his appointed and rather honorable underlings. But, as he stood there, glaring at the frazzled female Turk regarding him with nothing short of the same look that a toddler with her hand in a cookie jar might, he began to wonder - just what force on Gaia hated him so much that his one and only vacation had to be ruined by such impossible odds such as this.

"This is not what it looks like, Sir." She struggled to compose herself, a tiny part of her wishing she was anywhere but work right at this second as she clicked the PHS off on a sobbing, hysterical Vincent Valentine. Maybe Master Yeng had a good point for a change. She could retire and live a very unhappy life with a man who's IQ was about as appealing as a toad.

Frog, she reminded herself. She had tried to turn him into a frog. It wasn't her fault the spell thought him better as a toad. Tseng was obviously not amused by the yet-to-be explained circumstances.

"This had better not be. Explain yourself," he pointed to the note in his hand. "Now."

She struggled to straighten her tie nervously with one hand as she faced her superior office, hoping against all hope that he would not notice the mythical wedding ring adorning her finger as she pretended to be preoccupied with seeking out a piece of paper as though to write down something. Just how was she supposed to explain something such as this and still maintain her dignity? "Well, you see, it's really had to explain. It happened so fast-"

He slammed his fists down upon the desk, making the rock garden rattle ominously. "I want the _whole _story. From the events that lead up to it to the moment it occurred. Now, stop wasting my time and precious sanity or I'll be forced to put you on leave until Reno and the others can investigate this matter to its fullest. Do you really want your personal issues in the hands of complete and fully-equipped idiots? What in the hell happened?"

"Well, you see, Sir, it's really all Vincent's fault," she tried to explain. "He was the one who called me in the middle of the night. We met at the bar, he asked a simple favor of me since Elena was not around and I was the only one with a legal library card, and well, next thing you know, at my apartment there was an incident involving-"

"Why didn't you call for help?" Tseng grumbled in annoyance, somewhat shocked that Vincent would be involved. "You of all people I would expect better judgment from! Especially with Mr. Valentine!"

"Um, no offense, Sir," she pointed to the PHS. "You never bothered to answer when I was actually in need of some advice and possible help. Reno hung up on me. And no one else knows how to check their voice mail. I was fortunate enough to get Rude a text message."

Tseng sighed, crumbling up the piece of paper and shaking his head. "We're going to deal with this matter like responsible, intelligent adults. I want you to keep this quiet until I think of something that may be of some use and keep the over-eager fandom out there from misunderstanding this whole conversation and thinking something completely else than what I mean. That, and we need to salvage our precious dignity, or whatever remains of it."

She merely nodded at her frazzled superior officer's words. If anyone needed a cup of coffee this morning, it was most definitely him.

"And here I just sent Reno and Rude to murder Mr. Strife, when it should have been Mr. Valentine who needed assassinated."

She raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Cloud? When was he involved in any of this?"

"Oh," his eyes widened. "I didn't realize you two were on a first name basis now."

"It's not what you think. You see, Cloud and I are-"

"I don't need to know. Just finish cleaning up the mess the boys made and I'll send you your next assignment. I think I need to pay Mr. Valentine a friendly mission visit as well…"

Lazard burst through the doorway, almost knocking the elder Turk into the rock garden. "Tseng! You're needed immediately. You can kill your underlings later!"

The Wutainese man sighed and struggled to pry the static-cling director of SOLDIER off of his shoulders. "Fine. Let's go hold our daily meeting of the idiots so I can handle more pressing issues."

**Corporate Boardroom, 10:00 A.M.**

For the third time in his career as a Turk, Tseng found himself contemplating jumping out of the window and trying to spider-man his way down the side of the building. As he sat there, twirling a pencil absently and pretending to be even a fraction of attentive to the 'dire' circumstances plaguing the already corrupt and doomed company, he began to wonder - just why couldn't SOLDIER handle this? They were, after all, on the payroll.

Tseng sighed, watching as the corporate poster board was brought forth and Lazard took his stance before it with the sparkly baton of doom.

"As many of you know, we have a crisis of epic proportions!" the director explained, somewhat more jittery than earlier. "A crisis so big, SOLDIER cannot handle it alone."

Tseng momentarily considered banging his head upon the table in hopes of gaining a concussion so he could go home earlier today. He was supposed to be on vacation damn it.

"Director," he began. "I am afraid that selecting hair products and tanning spray do not constitute an emergency worthy of the Turks' involvement on my behalf. We've got a crisis or two of our own to work out before we work through SOLDIER and its cosmetic issues."

Lazard tapped Tseng between the eyes with the baton, obviously offended. "As you see, ladies and gentlemen, when he went back to his home planet, the alien within took complete control of his brain as well as his entire department. I recommend Hollander examine him and the others post-haste."

Tseng groaned in annoyance. "With all due respect. I'm a busy person no thanks to the three days I was away. If we could just get to the point…"

"Not until we remove the alien spy. It's bad enough you've taught your underlings the ways of your home planet and made them overseers of the technology you aliens invented to make us mere mortals into your overworked and underpaid slaves without making life any easier for us! I demand some respect for the hell that VCR has put me through over these years! I demand to know your secrets!" Hollander growled in annoyance.

"I had Cissnei make that thing idiot-proof months ago," he replied. "All you have to do it press the little green button. It's not that difficult, gentlemen."

"How dare you insult my less than average intelligence and ability to handle a simple task!"

"Gentlemen! Please!" President Shinra stood up and pointed to the diagram of stick figures carrying off another stick figure. "We have bigger problems than the faculty VCR."

"Indeed," Tseng sighed, somehow imagining that he was just going to run away one of these days. "I appear to be surrounded by idiots."

Immediately, Lazard pointed to the diagram. "Last night, there was an incident at the Presidential Suite."

"Did Rufus accidentally glue himself to the chair again?" Tseng could not help but question, feeling braver than he was, and annoyed that quite possibly, that could be the crisis at hand. Last time, most of the company had gone into lockdown over him getting stuck in a revolving door, much to the snickering and amusement of the Turks forced to witness such a spectacle. He honestly had never heard Rude laugh like that before.

"Must worse," the President's eyes shifted back and forth, eventually falling upon Tseng. "He's been kidnapped."

"So?" he replied coldly. "He's got a tracking device on him. Go get him."

"Tseng, my dear friend, comrade, cannon character excuse for a slave, I have a dangerous mission your Turks are needed for." He placed his hands upon Tseng's shoulders, making the Wutainese man cringe. Could they ever have a board meeting without someone touching him? "This is a foe worst than any foe on the planet."

"The Shinra Postal Service?"

"Much worse."

Tseng raised an eyebrow. "The Milkman?"

"Worst than that."

Now Tseng was really confused. What could possibly be worse than their normal than average foes?

"The Shinra Custodial Department?" he dared to venture, not certain exactly just why the janitors would be out to get anyone.

"No." President Shinra's eyes narrowed. "Fan girls."

Silence filled the room and Tseng turned several shades paler.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Rufus, kidnapped by fan girls? Could there be a more dangerous mission? Wait, yes, there could be! And it's currently in Vincent and Cissnei's in-boxes!**

**Tune in next time folks.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	76. Mission 76 Operation Mommy and Me

**Heh heh heh. Wow. I'm surprised and proud to announce that we are now more than three-fourths of the way through the missions AND that we broke more than 320 reviews! (The Muse was rather stunned to see so much support for this fic in her inbox!) : ) Whoot! Time goes so fast when you're having fun. Ahem. Anyway folks. I present to you a smaller than usual mission that I hope will make you laugh as poor Vincent and Cissnei go where no Turk has ever gone before...Enjoy! (On a side note, I'm going to try to get next week's update in on time, but know now that the Muse is going to be out of town this week and you may end up getting it a week late. Anything posted next week has already been written this week and was already ready to go. Sorry folks, but the best friend is getting married and I'm her Maid of Honor.)  
**

**Mission Seventy Six - Operation Mommy and Me**

It had taken every ounce of agility Rude possessed in his less-than-agile being to evade the shuriken that came soaring through the corridor and took out the bulletin board before hanging a right and crashing into Reeve's filing cabinet, sending a minor explosion of papers into the air. As he peered up from his own desk in fright just in time to see the furious female Turk storm from her office and damn near destroy Vincent's office door, a piece of paper and an envelope in hand, he began to wonder - just what had been in Tseng's coffee this morning and how soon could they switch it back to normal.

He adjusted his shades and watched the spectacle unfolding with mild interest, no doubt his Turk senses warning him against such a spectacle. However, he was a Turk. It was his job to observe his fellowmen in the art of their field of expertise and learn from it.

Even if there was a high chance of fatal encounters along the way.

"Rude," Tseng replied, tapping his foot matter-of-factly and startling the bald man. "I need you to round up the remaining idiots you call coworkers. We're going on a super secret security mission tonight."

Rude blinked in confusion and stared at Vincent's closed office door. A super secret mission? Tonight? He pointed to the closed doorway in puzzlement, uncertain if he should even bother asking if that was what had Cissnei in an uproar.

"Leave them," Tseng responded. "They have their own mission of punishment to suffer through."

At this, Rude did a double take. Their own mission? Tseng was actually removing the two of them from a super secret mission which would no doubt be their specialty and impossible to complete without their expertise? Had he lost his complete and total limited sanity?

Yes, he thought to himself. The sooner he examined the coffee and switched it back to what Tseng considered normal, the better. He also made a mental note to ensure that his life insurance was paid up.

**Somewhere in Sector Eight, Some random odd building, Room 2BA, 7:00 P.M., later that same day…**

If ever there was a time to feel uncomfortable on a mission, it was tonight. Cissnei glanced around at the other females seated around the rather crowded room with their supposed husbands, chattering like a gaggle of geese about babies and baby-related topics.

She sat deeper in her chair with a grumble of annoyance, watching as Vincent glanced around, equally nervous at the pastel pinks and blues adorning the walls and what appeared to be a playpen with lots of little rattles in it dangerously close by.

"Are you sure you read the test right?" Cissnei asked, no doubt at wit's end over the turn of events. Then again, it felt rather awkward asking a fellow male coworker such a question as this.

Vincent nodded and shied away from a rather large woman who took a seat beside him. "I took four of them, all came back with little pink plus signs on them."

The female Turk swore under her breath. "I hate you. You know that?"

The stoic Turk sighed and handed the clipboard to the person beside him. "What else can we do though? I mean. This is really unexpected and my hormones…"

He began sobbing uncontrollably again, prompting the female Turk to glance around the room in embarrassment. Why was it none of the other husbands were this emotional?

Oh, right, she reminded herself. _They _weren't pregnant.

"Oh, now calm down dear," a rather plump, drill sergeant-like older woman grabbed the clipboard and looked from Vincent to Cissnei. "A baby is a beautiful thing!"

Cissnei blushed horribly. "Well, you see, I'm not-"

"No need to deny it here sweetheart. We're all expecting a tiny miracle in nine months."

Nine months? The female Turk looked towards Vincent who continued to sob uncontrollably. They were going to have to suffer through this for most of the year? She made a mental note to resign her position with the Turks immediately upon returning to headquarters, for Tseng was indeed not going to understand her situation no matter how much she tried to explain herself.

Suddenly the lifetime commitment to being married did not sound so bad after all.

"Now now. No need to look so distraught. It's not good for the baby," the elder woman reprimanded them and handed them a copy of a small, red book with a smiling baby on the cover.

Cissnei stared at the book in horror. "Nine Month Miracle." The same book Vincent had asked her to retrieve from the library and somehow managed to get into Tseng's possession. "Um. I think I don't belong here. You see, it's Vincent who is-"

"Oh, you are quite the piece of work darling. Don't worry. By the time this five month class is over, you'll be an experienced mommy ready to handle everything from runny noses to diaper rash."

Cissnei nearly fainted at the prospect. Vincent merely continued to sob. By now, most of the entire class was staring at them with sympathy.

"Aw, it's okay," another male in the class smiled. "I've never seen a father so happy he's in tears."

Happy? Yeah. Sure. Cissnei sighed and watched the crumbling form of what was supposed to be one of the elite Turks, sobbing like the little baby he was supposed to be carrying as part of some sick, twisted mpreg plot to rule the world. She could only imaging the horrible fan fic starved citizens out there ready to pounce.

The older woman smiled and pointed to both Turks, beaming. "This, class, is a classic example of modest first time parents excited about the prospect of their little nine month miracle. Now, shall we begin the first session?"

There was a collective nod and the class officially began.

**Three agonizing hours later…**

Cissnei was fairly certain both herself and Vincent's IQs had plummeted several points as she stared at the elder woman finishing up a lecture on just how babies were made. As she looked around the class at the mesmerized men in the class and a few confused women, she began to wonder if the stupidity gene could be spread and if so, was there a way to counteract it.

"Okay," the woman leading the class looked at Vincent and her and smiled. "Your first full term assignment is going to be to baby-sit these highly intelligent super human genome robot life-like human dolls for a full week."

She handed the creepy looking doll to Cissnei and checked something off on the clipboard. For a moment, the Turk exchanged a look with Vincent, uncertain if the doll was the right way to handle this whole fiasco.

"Um, are you sure this is a good idea?" She held the doll at arm's length much to the horror of the woman in charge of the class, who promptly showed her the correct way of holding a baby with that reprimanding look.

"Oh, you'll be fine hun. It's programmed to behave just like a real baby," an evil little look crossed her face. "You'll be experienced mommies and daddies in no time."

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Just what does this super secret mission have in store for the boys? Will Vincent and Cissnei be able to pass their Mommy and Me class? And why is Reeve sneaking around in the bushes in a cardboard box?**

**Tune in next time folks! You know you're curious. Admit it. **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	77. Mission 77 Operation Fireside Chat

**Okay. Star Trek fans, don't kill me for borrowing a line and using it as a horrible pun to start this fun mission off. I could not resist in this case and you'll see why. That said, I think ya'll will enjoy this fun mission folks (I was forced to rush it, so I feel it may be missing something, as it didn't come out like I had hoped) but I hope you at least get a laugh out of it none-the-less. And yep, I'm still taking requests for missions you want to see. Got a great one planned thanks to a request by awsomekiwihere1213. Look for it in the near future here folks. : ) On a side note: Until this wedding is over - early September, the fic will probably be on temporary hiatus. I appologize in advance, but once I'm actually able to access my computer for more than five minutes a day, I will reward your patience. Thanks folks!**

**Mission Seventy Seven - Operation Fireside Chat**

Nature. The final frontier. It was every person's dream to explore such a vast, uncharted territory; the dream of every child; the pastime of all eco-nuts on the planet. To the everyday human being, there was just nothing as graceful as Man in his natural habitat.

Except for the group currently traipsing through the undergrowth somewhere around the territory of Fort Condor and Junon.

"Is this really necessary?" Reeve grumbled and struggled to wrestle the cardboard box he wore around him through the undergrowth in pursuit of the miserable entourage before them.

"I didn't make the rules," Tseng answered and fished a pair of binoculars from his backpack, for the first time in his career, wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of long shorts. "Blame Veld."

"But he's been gone for years! Good god man. Show some initiative for a change!"

"Again," Tseng replied and struggled to get a good view from atop the hill he stood upon. "Not my fault. How difficult is it to roll that three and a one anyway?"

The engineer scowled and kicked the cardboard prison he was sentenced to die in, only proceeding to trip and fall, nearly crushing the box and landing in a thorn bush. Various, unprintable swear words ensued.

"Cheer up, Reeve!" Reno smiled and stepped over the fallen engineer while wearing a pair of shorts that not even an elderly gentleman should ever attempt on a Thursday. "We get to do some real, manly man male bonding out here all thanks to Rufus's little screw up."

"I was afraid of that," the engineer sighed and looked up at Tseng. "Remind me again why I had to come with you?"

"Because, if we encounter any bears, we needed a sacri-ow!"

Tseng struck Reno with his walking stick and glanced back at a miserable looking Rude and Elena who were being assaulted by mosquitoes. "We felt you would get lonely if we left you behind."

"In case you haven't noticed, Tseng, every time I go with you guys, something always starts to maim me or try to kill me. I think I would rather be at my meeting right now."

"Palmer was spotted at the Beanie-Wienie World last night's all you can stomach buffet…"

"Camping is good."

"I thought as much." Tseng warned and pointed to the clearing at the foot of the hill. "We make camp there for the night. Reno. You pitch the tents. Rude, you and Elena start a campfire. I'm going to help Reeve get out of the bushes."

**Some time later…**

Reno rolled up his sleeves and stared at the menace before him, reading the box for the first time. "You must be level 80 or above to operate this piece of camping equipment without dying."

He tossed the box to the side and stared at the canvas. "Sure. Right. Level 80 or above. Like the tent will know the difference. All I have to do is pull this little cord thinger and-"

There was a hostile yell, followed abruptly by a shriek of pain and the echo of tearing canvas. Tseng looked up from his camping manual in time to watch the redhead tumble to the ground and immediately become ensnared by the tent, watching as he lost well over one thousand HP on the encounter.

The leader of the Turks blinked. Was that even possible? Could tents actually cause loss of HP? He reminded himself to invest in a Libra as soon as possible to find out. Then again, this was Reno charged with such a mediocre task after all. He could take injury from a bowl of popcorn at a movie theater if his better half was not supervising and protecting him at all hours of the day.

Reno staggered forth from the mess of canvas and poles more than fifteen minutes later, looking every bit as defeated as someone who may have been mauled by a bear. "Who in the hell invented these things anyway?"

"Some less-than-remembered classic 8-bit Final Fantasy characters who got tired of drinking potions to restore their HP at save points I believe. It's a self installing tent survival tent," Tseng replied. "All you have to do is pull the little cord and it will set up on its own."

"Little cord?" His eyes narrowed and his mouth dropped open. "You pull the little cord! I did and the damn thing tried to eat me!"

"Were you level 80 or above?"

Reeve hunkered down in his box, trying hard not to laugh at the redhead's predicament and look of rage and from the look on Tseng's face, he could tell his superior was at the same level.

There was a whoop of excitement from somewhere towards the center of the clearing, where Rude and Elena proudly stared at what appeared to be a campfire.

**Around the campfire, half of an hour later…**

For the first time in a long time, a mission was actually going somewhat well.

Tseng leaned against a log with a halfhearted smirk of satisfaction, watching as the three Turks sat across from him and Reeve stayed off to the side, trying to roll that three and a one as usual. For once, they were coexisting as civilized human being. He wasn't certain if the fact that Reno was suffering from low HP thanks to the tent had anything to do with it or not, or the fact that every five seconds a mosquito would steal five HP, but, whatever it was, he made certain to make note of it for future reference.

And all appeared to be peaceful…until….

"Guess what I got!" Reno beamed and pulled something from his backpack.

Tseng immediately reached for his pistol and considered returning to Shinra one less Turk. Anytime Reno proclaimed something, it usually meant someone was about to suffer humiliating defeat.

"Whatever it is, put it away before you get it out."

"Aw, come on man," he held the packet of marshmallows out before the leader of the Turks. "You can't have a camp fire without marshmallows."

Elena and Rude exchanged looks as Reeve ducked down into his box again, closed the flaps, and proclaimed he was going to sleep for the night before his sense of foresight actually got the best of him.

Tseng scowled at the redhead. "You know marshmallows have been banned for more than ten years."

Reno shrugged. "Just because Gun did not enjoy them doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer."

Tseng looked at Elena and then back to Reno out of pity. "Ahem. I do believe she had a good reason to hate them. I believe you were at fault too, Reno, if the restraining order was legit."

"How do you keep getting Rod and me confused, old man? I swear we acted nothing alike! We had _nothing _in common at all!"

"You're right," Rude deadpanned. "He was the smart one."

"I'm smarter than I look yo!"

"A computerized IQ test with the answers on screen does not count, Reno," Reeve muttered through the cardboard suit of armor he hid within.

"Shut up Box-boy!"

Elena sighed. "I knew should have taken that job with Weiss and Rosso Law Associates…"

"You would have just ended up representing us over frivolous law suits every other Monday through Friday, some Saturdays. I needed an alpha female to balance out the male stupidity anyway."

"Don't you already have an alpha female Turk?" Elena dared to ask, wondering if she should renew her life insurance just in case the red head had been fired and not yet informed that someone like Elena may be taking her job.

Tseng sighed. "She's too busy playing the part of a man so that I have something to compare and rank my less than manly subordinates against come evaluation time. I would have asked you to teach her how to be a woman, but, well…"

The bald Turk shook his head and reached for the bag of marshmallows, proceeding to put on the end of a stick and placed it over the fire with a childish smile that stunned Tseng, Reno, and anyone else who knew the poor man. Rude. Smiling? It was downright disturbing.

"See?" Reno smirked. "Rude thinks it is a good idea."

"Okay. Fine," Tseng grumbled. "You can eat marshmallows. Just be responsible."

"It's a marshmallow-" Reno slapped poor Rude on the back. "How much damage can it possibly do?"

Rude howled in pain as the stick burst into flames and the marshmallow shot backwards, overshooting the sunglasses and landing in his eye at Reno's strike. With a yelp of pain, he proceeded to accidentally press the flaming marshmallow deeper into his eye. "Get it out! Get it out!"

"Hang on!" Elena struggled to calm the bald man as Tseng looked at him in horror with that all-knowing presence about him. "Reno! Get some water or something!"

"Get. It. Out!" Rude staggered to his feet and struggled to remove the sticky assailant from his eye, only making the situation worse.

Reno looked down at the stick in his hands and shrugged. "Aw, what the hell."

And proceeded to swing at Rude and Elena.

Tseng sighed and rubbed his forehead, watching as Elena landed upon the tent and Reno continued to swing the tree branch at the only Turk in history to ever be attacked by a marshmallow due to his own stupidity and lose.

"When you morons get this situation under control, I expect you all to be in your tents, asleep, and ready for tomorrow. We have a big day ahead of us."

He received two groans and a whimper in response.

**Tseng's tent, two hours later…**

It began with a rustle of the bushes that woke him from a dead slumber.

"Reno? Rude?" he ventured a guess, the outside of the tent quivering as whispers invaded the region. "That had better be the two of you out past curfew. Reeve?"

Again, the whispers grew louder, possessing a feminine tone about them that did not sound like Elena.

Tseng fumbled with the zipper to the sleeping back in panic. Hadn't they gotten the marshmallow incident under control yet? Panic seized him as the zipper to the tent began its slow decent towards opening the one place he thought he may be safe.

He screamed as the assailants invaded his tent and immediately seized the sleeping bag, hauling him into the forest, never to be seen again...

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**Will Rude ever look at marshmallows the same way again? Will Rufus ever be rescued? Will we **_**ever **_**see Tseng again? Why exactly are Cissnei and Biggs hiding under the kitchen table?**

**Tune in next time folks as our favorite Turks embark on more fun missions. **

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill : ) **


	78. Mission 78 Operation Mommy and Three

**I'm alive! Well, for the weekend anyway. No promises on an update schedule yet. Still have to survive the wedding next week. Anyway, thought I would celebrate Labor Day by slipping this mission into the mix. I hope you all find it somewhat enjoyable. :-)  
**

**Mission Seventy Eight - Operation Mommy and Three**

She was tired, hungry, and her feet hurt from walking halfway across Midgar in the pouring rain with a bassinet in one hand and a leash to prevent her comrade-in-arms from fleeing to the nearest donut shop to drown his troubles in chocolate in the other. Not that she would not have minded joining him at this point and stage. So far, the supposed 'child' for a week contained in the basket had done little more that scream its head off since they had left the class of doting 'mommies-to-bes.'

The female Turk glanced down at the robotic child screaming like a dying chocobo. She had a headache and an assassination to carry out in the morning. As she watched, the plastic-coated being proceeded to scream all the louder, earning looks from passersbys on the streets, she began to wonder just what sort of revenge she could possibly get on a man of Tseng's caliber.

Revenge. She gritted her teeth and stormed across the street with Vincent in tow. No. Revenge was an understatement. This was downright vindictiveness over an understanding that could have been prevented had someone just picked up their damn phones when she needed them. Something of this caliber went beyond the category of simple revenge.

It's only for a week, she reminded herself. She could handle a week. Couldn't she? After all. It wasn't as though she was the one who was supposed to be its mother. He was…

"I'm a failure as a mother!"

"Vincent!" The female Turk lunged for her comrade as he chewed through the leash and ran screaming through the alleyway, vanishing into a stack of cardboard boxes. "No! Bad Turk! Don't you dare leave me with this child you sick, twisted son of a - Hey!"

Several onlookers averted their eyes at the young Turk shrieking in rage at the escaped fellow male Turk in question and looked down at the pretend child in horror. Had Vincent just grasped the seriousness of the situation and realized what was in store for him? She shook her head. An acute case of random mpreg couldn't have corrupted his brain that quickly. Could it?

She made a mental note to put down some chocolate chip cookies to lure him out of the shadows later and looked at the screaming 'child.' It was going to be a long week.

**Cissnei's apartment, some time later…**

It was every man's worst nightmare - a woman, drenched by the rain falling outside, her once pristine suit ruffled and unkempt, standing in the doorway with a bassinet at her side and a look that was nothing short of murderous upon her face.

Biggs took rapid inventory of his potion supply and peered over the back of the couch warily. "_So_. How was your day?"

His response was the irritated Turk storming past him, setting the robotic baby by the table, and proceeding to pour herself a cup of tea without even making eye contact. "Fine. Just absolutely fine."

Biggs continued to look towards the bassinet warily. His father had always told him the two things he needed to survive in life when it came to women. The first was that women liked chocolate and if a man carried it on him at all times, he could not be killed. The second, which was the situation he currently found himself embroiled in, was that when a woman answered with 'fine' at any moment in her life to a direct question, she was anything but.

Biggs began to wonder if he had a spare phoenix down lying around anywhere.

"Ah. Well. So-" He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "He didn't tell me you had a kid-"

The shuriken pinned him to the ground in less than a second.

"This is all _your _fault."

Biggs raised an eyebrow. His father had been right. When it came down to babies, it was always the man's fault. He cowered and struggled to remove the shuriken from the sleeve of his shirt, lest the furious Turk decide to assassinate him. Although he wasn't exactly sure just how this was _his _fault. It really didn't make sense to him.

"Thanks to you-" She pulled a small, what appeared to be a day planner, from the pocket of her blazer and slammed it down upon the table. "For the next nine months, my life is about to become a living hell."

"But we didn't do anything!" he protested. "For Gaia's sakes, woman! I can't even touch the toaster or the coffee pot without something being thrown at me!"

"And as long as you wish to continuing living, I suggest you do not even attempt it." She scrawled something down in the little book and glanced at the screaming child. "Now shut up and help me with this screaming project until I can find its mother and force him to take responsibility for his 'little' issue that got me into this mess to begin with."

Biggs blinked stupidly. Had she just claimed the mother was of the male variety? He really needed to stop drinking that coffee from Sector Three before his evening routes. Then again, he was 'married' to a Turk. Only Gaia knew what he had been thrown into.

And _then _it dawned upon him just what sick monster could possibly be behind all of this.

"So," he glanced at her nervously. "About these next nine months-"

"That information is classified, thank you very much." She slapped the little book closed matter-of-factly. "All you need to know is that until I get this sorted out, you get to be the woman in this relationship."

Biggs's shoulder slumped at the prospect. Somehow, he had expected her to say something like that. With a sigh, he glanced at the fake baby and back to the Turk looking even more miserable than he had ever imagined a Turk being able to look.

"It'll turn out all right," he smiled, or, at least attempted to smile. "It can't be that bad, right?"

Cissnei sighed and pretended her 'husband' was not as naïve as he appeared to be.

Biggs walked over to the robotic baby boldly. "See. I'll show you. Aren't you such a cute little-" Laser beams shot from the robot's eyes, searing the young man's ear and nearly taking off his arm. Biggs yelped in terror and held the baby at arm's length in panic. "Demon child!"

Cissnei grabbed her shuriken in panic as the laser beam reflected from the window and singed most of the kitchen. Caught somewhere between full-fledged panic, worried housewife, and Turk, she dove for the table as Biggs set the doll down and followed suit.

A chair exploded as the doll continued to scream and fire lasers at the pair.

"Well," Biggs trembled nervously as he cowered beside the unfortunate female Turk. "He's got your temper."

Had she not been cowering for her life, she might have gladly thrown him out of the safety zone.

**-----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**How does one keep something like this from the boys?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	79. Mission 79 Operation Little White Lie

**Okay folks. This mission is super short. Just letting you know in advance. But, I hope you'll find it humorous anyway. Don't worry. We'll be seeing the fates of Rufus and Tseng soon, as well as the requested mission suggestions you've all be so nice to slip my way. The Muse is on top of things, she's just slowly trying to get back on her feet and back into a schedule that works for her. Hang tight folks. You'll be seeing more updates once the holidays arrive. I can promise that. ;-)**

**Mission Seventy Nine - Operation Little White Lie**

Vincent Valentine was in the middle of a mid-life crisis times ten.

To the average onlooker, it may have appeared that he was merely stressed by his job. He was a Turk after all. But, to the few individuals privileged to know the truth behind his unrest, it was downright normal behavior. After all, he was becoming a woman, through the powers of bored fan fiction authors with way too much time on their hands…

"Vincent Valentine! How dare you leave me alone with your child!" The stoic Turk found himself practically pinned to the wall by the furious female Turk looking as though she had walked up to Ifrit and decided to poke him for the heck of it.

He began weeping in response. "I'm a horrible mommy!"

"Damn right you're a horrible mommy!" she shrieked. "Do you realize what that little monster did the moment you were gone?"

She wasn't about to tell him the fate of poor Biggs - yet. All she was focused on at this point was getting him back on board with the 'Mommy and Me' classes so that she didn't have to suffer through them one moment longer than she was required to. It wasn't as though she was the one who needed mothering classes to begin with. She had enough problems dealing with childish coworkers who gave her more than enough experience in that department.

The door flew open before she could all-out attack the cowering Vincent, revealing the bruised and battered form of Rude with Reno and Elena in tow.

"Yo, Cissnei," Reno strutted past, giving Vincent a quick look and immediately recognizing her scorched blazer. "What in the hell happened to you? Firaga yourself or something?"

"Where's Tseng?" she inquired.

Reno shrugged. "Probably slacking off somewhere."

**Unknown Location…**

It was bright and pink. The leader of the Turks struggled to untie his hands from the scrunchies binding them and looked towards the blonde-haired Rufus Shinra suffering a similar humiliating situation nearby.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the plush corridor, spurring Tseng's senses into overdrive. Where were his minions when he needed them the most? Why were they not trying to find him? Surely they were aware of what became of helpless Turk leaders in crisis, right?

The footsteps grew louder through the corridor.

Tseng and Rufus screamed in terror as the horrific being emerged around the corner with a set of keys in hand.

**Back to the office…**

"Not that we expect him to be of much use. Oh, and Reeve's missing as well."

She relaxed her grip on Vincent's tie and glared at Reno. "You lost Reeve?"

"Probably wandered off somewhere. You know how he gets. He sees numbers and just takes off. Must be an engineer thing."

"Reno. We have enough missing people around here to worry about losing Reeve. Go find him before people start thinking he fell through a plot hole or something."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. So what'd he do, cast reflect at the last second or something."

Cissnei stepped on Vincent's blazer sleeve to prevent him from crawling away and avoiding his responsibilities. "For your information, I'm in the middle of an assignment with Vincent right now and don't have time to deal with your screw-ups."

"Ouch. So what's he got you doing? Investigating that mysterious black hole in the middle of the broom closet. We all know Strife goes in there an awful lot."

She gritted her teeth and glared, watching Elena skitter out of range and Rude follow. Reno was treading a thin line with no one to pull him out of the problem he was about to wander into. Vincent whimpered from his spot upon the ground, about to launch into another of his "I'm a horrible mother" spiels.

Cissnei paled. The last thing she needed was for someone like Reno to find out about the mothering classes and word get out about the current, fragile situation. What if they found out that she was married now? What if they found out about **Little EXPLICIT EXPLICIT WORD EDITED OUT FOR YOUR SAFETY**, as the robotic baby was to be known as? She kicked Vincent to keep him quiet and sighed. "I hoped I would never have to tell you guys this, but…"

They leaned forward to hear what the youngest Turk had to say. After all, she reasoned, a little white lie would buy her some time at least, maybe.

"You remember that baking contest flier on the bulletin board?" Reno nodded, his eyebrows widening in shock. "Yeah. I've been elected to participate. I'm going to cooking classes on my spare time."

"You can't even boil water, let alone bake cookies! This is too good!" He began laughing hysterically and even Rude could not help but snicker at the thought of one of the worse chefs in Shinra's entire history actually baking cookies for a competition.

"Ha ha, very funny," she grabbed Vincent and dragged him towards the doorway. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Vincent and I have some classes to attend."

**------**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Who will rescue our heroes? Will Vincent ever woman-up to his duties? And where is Reeve at?**

**Tune in next time folks!**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	80. Mission 80 Operation Epic Plan

**Wow. That only took two months for me to get some free time to work on this. I'm back folks with some fun new updates to keep you all amused as we head into the final twenty missions of this fic. ;) Here's to a quick, short update with many more to come, hopefully, this month. Enjoy folks. **

**Mission Eighty - Operation Epic Plan**

It began, Elena was learning, with a packet of crayons, a blank sheet of paper, the phenomenon known as Reno Sinclair, and a simple question.

"Why are women so crazy?"

A wiser woman in her position would have taken full advantage of her woman's intuition and fled from the scene to do that horrifically evil deed known as Christmas Shopping. However, Elena, being the resident newbie at the time, had not yet taken advantage of learning that when Reno asked a question, the best course of action was to simply let him work it out on his own and watch the often humorous results.

And, much to her misfortune, no one was about to warn her either.

"Crazy?"

"Yeah, you know, 'crazy.'" He looked up from the piece of paper where a list of unusual happenings was starting to form in a neat little list. "I mean, 'Nei hasn't successfully baked cookies in her lifetime. Ain't that right, Rude?"

The bald one nodded solemnly. "Not even the mighty powers of the almighty Betty Crocker Premixed, Just Add Water and Bake Passable Chef Series Level Negative One could help."

Elena blinked and took a sip of her coffee. Her comrade couldn't even successfully bake pre-baked cookies? Now _that _was blackmail material. "You're kidding."

"Trust me," Reno shook his head and studied his piece of paper once more. "It was great fun to watch. Especially when the oven fought back and won. Now, Rude on the other hand…"

Elena made a mental note that now all appliances respected a ungodly leveled Turk when she was having a bad day, and the fact that Betty Crocker was the only one to ever actually win a direct confrontation through no doubt cruel means against said Turk in question.

Rude simply adjusted his sunglasses and shook his head.

"So she's baking cookies," she shrugged as though it was no big deal. "Lots of people do that around the holidays, right?"

"Lot's of people are not 'Nei," Reno defended. "And what's this 'Vincent and I' crap. They hate each other. Something is definitely up."

"Well," Elena struggled to piece together some semblance of how to answer Reno and not sound like an idiot as she finished her coffee. "Perhaps you're overreacting a little bit. Tseng did give them a mission as punishment for something…"

A pair of hands grasped her blazer and almost knocked the coffee cup out of her hands as she found herself staring into Reno's eyes. "You don't _understand_, Laney. This is more than a simple mission! What if they actually _like _being together?"

Again, Elena blinked stupidly. "Um, is that a bad thing?"

Rude merely sighed as Reno threw his hands in the air as though the worst words in history had been spoken to him. "Bad thing? Of course it is a bad thing! Our entire foundation is formed upon our ability to successfully coordinate major screw ups on all of our missions! If those two actually agree on things, then, we might actually…succeed at stuff…"

Her sister had been right, everything was bass ackwards in the Department of Administrative Research. No wonder Tseng was pseudo neurotic most of the time. No one had ever told her that they actually maintained a healthy level of failure just because they could.

"So," she began. "What do we do to prevent such a 'crisis'?"

"We do the only thing we can do…" Reno grabbed his list with that impish twinkle in his eyes. "We need you, Elena. You are our only hope."

"Me? Just what can I do about this?"

"Oh, you'll see. We have big plans for you. Big plans…"

**Location Unknown….**

It was like stepping into Lazard's office, only a hundred times worse.

Tseng flinched as he sat in a pink and magenta cage, watching the doorway out of habit for whatever hideous unholy beast might stride through it at any moment.

"You're supposed to be my bodyguard! Bodyguard me!" Rufus struggled against the sequin handcuffs and tried to rattle his cage door. Tseng sighed and simply shook his head.

"I would not say things like that in the presence of crazed fan girls. It might have other meanings…"

"Does it look like I care?" Rufus glanced down at the ribbon binding his hands, momentarily distracted by the flashiness. "I'll have you and your underlings fired over this! I swear!"

Tseng sighed and leaned against the wall as the door began to open and the crazed silhouette of a mad fan girl stepped into the light.

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Tis the season for poorly written Christmas cards, mishaps at the post office, and 'stalkings'… **

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill : )**


	81. Mission 81 Operation Christmas Cookie

**Greetings folks! I finally got a day off and used it to write up a quick update that I hope at least makes you smile. ;) Enjoy folks!**

**Mission Eighty One - Operation Christmas Cookie Part One**

He had less than four seconds to uproot himself from the couch and seek shelter before the shuriken landed where he had been sitting.

"Stupid. Lousy. Son of a b-"

"I take it work didn't go so well today…"

The decorative vase beside the door collided with his forehead in response.

"Why are men such pathetic, idiotic morons?"

"Um…"

"Answer that and I'll feed you to the fan girls. Got that?"

Biggs nodded and cowered behind the sofa as the irritated young Turk sat down at the kitchen table and merely folded her hands before her, deep in though over something he could not possibly understand. He watched her grimly and glimpsed the bassinette beside the couch.

His father had always told him that in a delicate situation such as dealing with potential screaming banshee, the best course of action was always to follow the rules of the Manly Handbook and let _her _decide how the situation should be handled along with offering to travel out into the rain and snow to find her any chocolate snack she wanted. Of course, if none of those ideas worked, there was always groveling for mercy.

He approached with great caution, watching as she glared at him but said nothing. "Why don't you tell me about your day…"

"Fine," she pinned him to the wall with 'the look.' "If you simply _must _know what happened to me today, my pregnant male coworker bailed on me again on the way here to man up to his womanly duties, the last sane engineer was swallowed by a plot hole, I got a parking ticket in my own parking spot, and because I was forced to lie to keep this messed up situation under wraps, now I have to mysteriously master the dreaded sugar cookie by next week!"

"You mean women actually lie? Huh. Who would have thought?" Biggs blinked, uncertain whether or not to pity the poor Turk or just start laughing. "It can't be _that _bad. Sugar cookies are the easiest of the easy."

She stood up and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "My only humiliating career defeat was _because _of sugar cookies!"

Biggs paled. "So you can't cook. Big deal. It's not the end of the world."

"It is in my case."

At least they were talking, he reasoned and pointed to the bassinette. "Shhh. It sleeps."

Cissnei looked at him in absolute amazement. "What? How?"

Biggs smirked and put on his best pseudo macho look. "I have my ways. Now about this sugar cookie crisis. Maybe I can help."

She released him and eyed the kitchen warily. "I don't know…"

"Aww. Come on. It will be fun!" Not that he envisioned teaching a Turk how to cook would be much fun, but anything to keep from being maimed was worth it.

"Fine. Just don't tell anyone about this. If word got out-"

There was a sharp knock upon the door and Cissnei froze. Who would be visiting her at this hour? Biggs glanced at her in equal surprise. He could only imagine what kind of company the young woman kept.

"I'll get it. You stay here," she turned towards the door, her knee connecting with the coffee table eliciting a slew of unintentional swear words.

"Um," the voice on the other side of the door responded timidly. "Are you okay in there?"

"Yeah-" For the first time in her life, she began to panic. "Uh, well, be with you in a second!"

She looked around the apartment and cringed at the scorch marks caused by **Little EXPLICIT EXPLICIT WORD EDITED OUT FOR YOUR SAFETY** and then to a nervous looking Biggs. There was no way she could let the newest Turk find out about any of this. No way in Hades.

She reached down and grabbed the bassinette as gently as she could and thrust it at the young man.

"No. No. No!" Biggs pleaded as the panicky female Turk pried open the door to a closest and shoved him and the robotic baby inside. "This is husband abuse!"

"I can do a lot worse," she warned and slammed the door shut. "Stay in there and keep quiet until she's gone."

And with that, she turned and answered the door, finding a rather terrified blonde Turk on her doorstep.

"Hey, Elena," she said, trying to appear as calm as possible. "The guys finally destroy what little sanity you had left?"

**Shinra Post Office…Sometime that same day…Inside of a box…**

Reeve Tuesti was having a bad day. Scratch that. It was not just a bad day, but _the _worst day of his life. Not only had he managed to lose his inconsiderate comrades somewhere in the middle of the wilderness, but immediately after discovering that they were gone, someone or something had decided to hit him across the back of the head, blinding him temporarily. That, and his right foot was asleep.

"This is not funny guys!" the irate engineer pounded a fist against the roof of the cardboard box in a vain effort to force it open. The box held firm, irritating him even worse than he already was. "Reno! Rude! Elena? Anyone out there? You let me out of here right this second or I'll…I'll tell the President that it was you guys who flushed his Zsu Zsu pet down the toilet by accident! Don't you think I won't!"

There was a series of familiar snickers beyond the thin cardboard prison and Reeve paled in recognition as to whom they belonged to.

**Outside of the box…**

The woman behind the counter eyed the box and the group of men wearing brown uniforms gathered around it as though it was the most precious cargo on the planet. "Anything liquid, flammable, or explosive?"

"Nope," answered the ringleader of the group. "Just your average cargo."

"Fragile?"

The janitor smirked. "Nope. Just a big Beanie Baby. Feel free to be as violent as possible to this package."

"Help! Let me out of here you crazy toilet paper Nazis!"

The janitor kicked the box. "A talking Beanie Baby."

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, scribbling down the address they presented to it and slapping it onto the package. "Overnight deliver?"

The janitor smirked. "Of course not. Take all the time in the world."

"Hey! Wait! No!"

She nodded and stuck a sticker to the package.

**----**

**On the next One Hundred and Tiny Missions: **

**It began with a set of Christmas lights and way too much eggnog…**

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill : ) **


	82. Mission 82 Operation String o lights

**I hope everyone had a fantastic holiday season folks and I'm extremely sorry I didn't get this update in as planned on time. I'd make up a really good excuse, but Reno stole my little pink notebook and refuses to give it back until he finds out just what all I plan on doing to him in the coming chapters. :Evil grin: That said, I want to dedicate the first part of this fun chapter to No3Xaldin for their fun suggestion (this is actually part one of two) and the second half to my wonderful beta reader, TheWriter2009 for sending me a certain retro gaming theme song that is now entrenched in my head in a continuous loop.**

**Just to let everyone know, if you requested a special mission to be written, shoot me a quick PM to remind me what it was, because something happened to my list and I somehow scrambled some of the names of which goes to which. I just want to make sure everyone gets credit where credit is due. ;) Enjoy folks.**

**Mission Eighty Two - Operation String o' Lights**

It was the cookie's fault.

Under normal circumstances, the oh-so-sagely, never lacking common sense Rude would have simply surrendered said tasty morsel of heavenly goodness and gone about his daily routine as though nothing had ever snagged his attention to begin with. But, as he rounded the corner and strode past the Turk's lounge, morning newspaper, flipped open to the horoscope page, under his arm and a cup of orange juice in one hand, the delectable alluring aroma of the never failing marriage of chocolate and cookie dough stopped him in his tracks.

He blinked and adjusted his shades, staring for a moment at the plate of innocent, freshly baked morsels perched atop the counter, mocking him with their innocent goodness. He looked left. He looked right. Finally deciding that Reno was nowhere in the local vicinity, he padded over to them and seized one with his fingers, immediately putting it back down and glancing around again.

He grabbed an antidote just in case and reached for one of the cookies, uncertain of whether the correct combination was to administer the remedy first, or wait until you were dying. Finally mustering up the courage to sample said dessert in question, he took a bite of one of them.

And…

Much to his surprise, his HP stayed exactly the same. He blinked in puzzlement. No status effects. No freakish mutations. No nothing. Whoever had made these was a culinary genius. He took a moment to savor the sweet treat and smiled, the echo of running footsteps echoing from the elevator.

"Whatever you do! Don't eat the cookies!" He reached down for another cookie at the same moment a whirlwind of red hair came flying around the corner, waving his arms in absolute horror before colliding with the bald man, knocking him into the coffee table. The cookie landed harmlessly upon the carpet.

"Is it absolutely necessary to tackle people who are minding their own business?" the bald man sighed and watched Reno trample the cookie into the ground as though it had turned into a Malboro.

"You don't understand yo. These cookies are dangerous!"

Dangerous? Rude blinked and began searching for his shades. Since when did eating a cookie qualify as dangerous? Then again…He watched the unfortunate snack succumb to the bottom of Reno's shoe. Several members of the female side of the Turk circle seemed to have evolved into man-hating banshees in the past few weeks and there was no telling just how far they might go for revenge.

"Just how dangerous are we talking, Reno?"

"Oh good!" Lazard clapped his hands together in glee, his festive tweed jacket almost shimmering as he moved into the doorway to prevent the two Turks from fleeing. "I was hoping to find some Turks. I see you found the cookies I brought."

"_That _dangerous…" was all Reno muttered. Rude groaned in response and put his shades back on in an effort to salvage some of his dignity.

"This is fantastic! I thought all of the Turks had gone home for the holidays and here I find two of you. Absolutely perfect."

"Um, no offense, but Rude and I were just about to--"

"Nonsense," Lazard said. "Whatever it is can wait. I need the two of you for a couple of hours."

"Define a couple of hours," Reno whined. Lazard smiled, undeterred by the Turk's poor attitude.

"Well, you see, it is the funniest thing. My SOLDIERs seem to have succumbed to the most unfortunate holiday issues imaginable…"

**Remote Safe House, aka, Goblin's Bar…**

"That was some fantastic quick thinking Sephiroth," Angeal sipped his hot cider as the silver-haired general smiled and downed his eggnog.

"Told you I would find a way out of it somehow. You should know by now that I always make good on my promises."

"Like that time you--"

"Ahem," Sephiroth's eyes narrowed. "We do not speak of that incident."

"Yeah. Okay. Where's Genesis anyway? Was he having a hair care crisis as well?"

"What do I look like, his keeper? I think I saw him in line for the Holiday LOVELESS ticket sale. You know him."

Angeal nodded. "Unfortunately, I do. What about the Fair pup?"

Again, Sephiroth glared. "Again. Not my problem. Just shut up and enjoy your eggnog before whoever is in charge of this sick-twisted fan fiction ripe universe decides to send us back."

**Back at the Turk's Lounge…**

"So, as you can see, I am stuck with all of this tinsel and no one to hang it for me for the post-holiday Christmas After New Year's Party."

Reno and Rude blinked as Lazard finished explaining the specifics of their mission. Since when was the Post-Holiday Afterthought Party, as it was really called, _their _problem? Reno raised his hand.

"Does the tinsel have to actually be hung with utmost care?"

"Of course it does! Where is your holiday spirit?"

"In deep, dark confines of Vincent's twisted soul."

"You guys are no fun."

"We're not supposed to be fun."

**Some time later…Location: Storage Closet, SOLDIER Floor**

It was as though Marti Gras had vomited all over the Shinra Building and someone had decided to sweep it all into Lazard's territory for safe disposal. Unfortunately, whoever had decided that he should be in charge, had grossly neglected the fact that SOLDIERs were a little like moths, drawn to anything shiny enough to grab their attention.

Rude smirked and watched as Reno held the flashlight above his head, whistling innocently.

"Cut it out guys!" Zack whined as he tried once again to grab the light, only to have it jump out of his path and onto another box of party streamers.

"Can't. It's just too much fun."

Rude shook his head. Despite the fact that they had accomplished absolutely nothing in the past half of an hour, except for somehow being roped into taking on a third member because Lazard just didn't feel that he was 'ready' to be unsupervised yet, the mission had been uneventful thus far. He sighed and sifted through another box of Christmas ornaments.

"Aw. Come on! How do you keep doing that?" Zack turned towards the redhead with that puzzled look in his eyes and Reno changed it up a bit and clicked the flashlight on and off.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"But, can I just play with it for a little while? I promise not to break it."

"Fine. But I'm telling you. You'll never get it to shine its mystic wisdom like it does for me."

And Rude watched as Reno discreetly removed the batteries from said flashlight in question and handed it to the SOLDIER in training, who frantically began attempting to make the flashlight, well, light.

"Are you sure that was smart?" Rude could not help but ask, a shower of glitter coating his bald head.

"It's not like he can break it."

"No. I meant, what if he hurts himself?"

"I'm an adult!" Zack defended and promptly tripped over an exposed box, landing in another box of garland.

Rude sighed. "Where did you get that flashlight anyway?"

"Cissnei."

"She'll kill you, you know that right?"

"What? It's not like she owns it. She swiped it from Reeve, who swiped it from that maintenance dude on floor 7, who swiped it from the receptionist, who swiped it from the plumber, who swiped it from the janitor on floor 32 A, who originally stole it from Tseng, who bought it at the 99 cent store."

Rude blinked. If Reno would put as much thought into his daily missions as he did the origins of a battered and abused flashlight, there was a slim possibility that he could be a very dangerous man.

"Hey, guys," Zack whined and struggled to untangle himself from the Christmas decorations that attempted to strangle him.

"Not interested."

"But, guys…"

Reno turned away to face Rude and shrugged. "You think Laney's mission is going any better?"

"Dunno."

"Guys?"

"You think she managed to, you know, do her thing yet?"

Rude grunted and pictured how the other Turk might possibly be doing at this point and time.

Zack staggered out of the clutter, a string of lights dragging behind him. "I have an idea."

"Go away." Reno again said.

"But I have an idea…"

"Not now."

"Aww. Come on. It will be fun!"

Reno rolled his eyes. Hanging out with SOLDIERs was never actually 'fun.' Fun was running Tseng's underwear up the flagpole and occasionally spiking his ginger ale with something a little stronger than sugar.

"Aww. Come on guys. This is supposed to be awesome time."

Reno turned to scold the SOLDIER but thought better of it at the last moment when his eyes fell upon the string of lights. And it was as though a light switch had been turned, Rude watching as the gears within Reno's head began to turn.

"You know what? I think I found a way to make this mission more interesting."

**Cissnei's Apartment, 10:45 PM**

"You're here again, why?" Cissnei had gone over any and all possibilities in the back of her mind as to why Elena of all people would be standing on her doorstep this late at night, looking about as enthusiastic as a chocobo penned on the opposite side of a big wheelbarrow of greens.

"Well, the guys said you might be having a little bit of trouble, with, you know…"

Cissnei paled. This was worse than any crisis on the planet. If Elena was here, then, they _knew_…

The blonde one nodded in understanding. "It's okay. There are support groups for this sort of thing."

"Um, Elena, I don't mean to be rude about this but--"

"It's okay. Rude knows what you're going through. The first step is to admit you need help."

Again, Cissnei blinked. Rude had gone through this sort of crisis? And not _told _anyone? She made a mental note to move him to the top of the hit list as soon as she got back to work.

She looked at Elena as the young woman moseyed into her apartment and began looking around as though surveying a kingdom yet to be conquered. "No offense, but I don't think I need any help, from you. I have it under control."

"Nonsense! All women need the help of other women in a crisis like this. It's only proper."

"Er, yeah, right. Elena, perhaps I was not being clear enough. The help I'm getting is from professionals in their field…"

"It'll be okay. I got a B+ in Home Ec. It would have been an A, but the stupid casserole had more role than cass at the time. But don't worry. Cookies are my specialty."

"Wait, no, Elena--" Cissnei paled, wondering just what her idiot coworkers had told her.

"Come on. Let's see what you have to work with in the kitchen." For the first time ever, the auburn-haired Turk found herself being dragged across the room towards the kitchen in her own apartment by a rookie.

She could have sworn she heard the familiar snickering of one about to be former husband from the closest as she trudged past and watched Elena begin to rifle through the cupboards, setting aside flour, sugar, and various mixing bowls.

"Elena, please. You do not know what you are getting yourself into--" her phone rang at that exact moment and against her better judgment, having recognized the name, she decided to answer it. "What, Rude? I'm kind of in the middle of something important."

"_You might want to look out your window…"_

"Look out my window? What on--" her eyes widened and she nearly dropped the phone at what she was seeing. "Oh Holy--"

"What's the matter?" Elena inquired and moved to look out the same window, immediately bursting into a fit of laughter.

"Rude, I'm gonna have to call you back…" She hung up the phone and hurried out of the apartment to where a group of people had gathered in the street, each seemingly transfixed by something happening in the direction of the Shinra building.

What she saw was something she was never going to forget.

For there, on the southern side of the Shinra Building, was a group of glowing, flashing Christmas lights flickering in perfectly timed intervals as the colorful outlines of different colored and shaped blocks were maneuvered from right to left and downwards across the entire side of the building to stack atop another group of colorful rows as the playful tune of Tetris blared throughout the streets…

**----**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**It's a brand new year at Shinra HQ… **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	83. Mission 83 Operation Told You So

**Oh noes! We have a lost mission folks. Yes, you heard right, I LOST the real mission 83. Stupid jump drive. (I blame the overly hormonal Vincent this time.) Good news is mission 84 (though not half as good as 83 was) was salvageable and will now be filling in for mission 83, leaving quite possibly a chance to see a lost mission segment in the future. (This is the fifth mission I have lost thus far and it kind of makes me mad because it was a hysterical Tseng and Rufus one that involved a very fashionable use for a cowboy hat, Rufus humming his own theme music, a sparkly purple butterfly hair tie, one **_**very **_**embarrassing rendition of Oklahoma while embracing the way of the Hobo on a train, and an order of nachos with low fat cheese from a vegan restaurant. Such a shame it was lost.) Wow folks. Can you believe it has been two whole years since this fic was started? Time sure does fly, doesn't it. I felt like picking on Elena for this one, because well, you'll see that she really just asks for trouble in this one. Then again, I was sitting in the middle of a field on a tractor over my lunch break when I typed this up and saw an ideal demonstration of clumsiness at its finest. (I is a multitasker!) Hopefully, you'll find this chapter somewhat amusing at least. You'll have to forgive the Muse for being lazy lately, she's been doing other super important Muse stuff (see note about typing up chapters while sitting on tractors above.) One of these days I'll get stuff done on time. Enjoy folks. :P **

**Additional author note: Many eggs and one very sadistic toaster were harmed in the making of this fic.**

**Mission Eighty Three - Operation Told You So**

She was embarrassed for the both of them.

"Are you _sure _you don't have a ghost or something?" Elena asked, watching another egg roll off of the counter on its own free will and land on the floor in an apparently well thought out attempt at egg-related suicide. "Because that's just freaky."

Cissnei blinked and stared at the unfortunate egg, trying not to feel even a remote sense of pity, or sympathy for the poor thing. It wasn't exactly her fault that she had somehow managed to buy the only kamikaze carton of eggs in the entire history of the grocery store.

"No ghost. The eggs found out _I_ was the one behind the mixing bowl and decided that this was a bad idea," she sighed, remembering that the mop she needed was locked away in the broom closet with her still snickering husband, who no doubt found the whole ordeal humorous, despite the fact that he was absolutely doomed the moment Elena left.

Elena frowned. "They're eggs. They can't think or pass judgment."

"You sorely underestimate the love-hate relationship of my kitchen," Cissnei watched another egg creep dangerously close to the edge of the countertop and grabbed it before it could join its seven other comrades in egg heaven. She shot the carton a glare of warning and could have sworn she saw one of them edge closer to the cardboard edge, preparing to make a run for it just for spite. With her free hand, she moved the carton to the opposite side of the counter.

Scowling at an unruly protein source. She had struck a new career low.

"Your kitchen doesn't hate you," Elena assured her in a cheerful manner. "You just don't _understand _how it functions. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of successful women don't know what a stove is for."

Cissnei gripped the egg tighter, every ounce of control preventing her from introducing it to the back of Elena's head. How dare this _rookie_ barge into _her _house and tell her how to talk about _her _kitchen. "I _know _what a stove does, Elena. The microwave is far more _convenient_."

The blonde proceeded to rifle through the cupboard, none the wiser to the danger zone she had stepped into, and turned up a small bag of flour. "The microwave is a crime against humanity."

Her eyebrow twitched, the egg's HP dangerously close to death. "Elena, much as I appreciate whatever the guys told you about my culinary 'shortfalls,' I really don't need nor want your help. Now I'm going to ask you again very politely, get out of my house."

"The first step to overcoming your problem is to admit you need help," she said in response and pointed to the stove. "The oven is not the place to keep the pots and pans. Its purpose is to bake and broil things. And that toaster is absolutely hideous. Now where do you keep your apron?"

Cissnei pointed to the door. "Out. Now."

For a moment, Elena blinked in puzzlement and the auburn-haired Turk began to wonder if what she had said was in a language Elena could understand or if the poor, unfortunate blonde was just dumb. She really hoped it was the second option because then it would be a lot easier to come up with a creative excuse as to why the resident newbie was K/O'd by an innocently common breakfast food item for seemingly no apparent reason.

"But, I haven't taught you anything yet."

"Elena, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Once you work with Reno for anything longer than five years, you forget _how _to learn stuff and just settle for the half-assery known as a successful attempt at best. I'm only telling you this because if you insist on pursuing this matter, you're going to lose whatever dignity you think you have left, which isn't a whole heck of a lot."

"But I really can teach you how to cook. It's not _that _hard."

Cissnei shook her head at the naiveté of newbies. "I believe your sister thought the same thing about housetraining Reno in the way of the mop. To this day, Reeve's still not certain how he managed to get the Sector Four Express into that apartment in the manner that he did…"

Elena blinked. "He put a train in a house?"

Cissnei nodded. "I have to give your poor, pseudo-sane sister credit though. She gave it her all. However, all Reno heard was house and train and well…it made for a great board meeting the following morning. You don't even want to know what became of the mop."

Elena blinked again and pondered the thought. Wasn't Reno an idiot in general? Then again…She paled ever so slightly and looked at the auburn-haired Turk. Was it possible that she was being _lied _to?

Her eyes narrowed and she picked up a wooden spoon and slapped it against her palm threateningly. "I'll take my chances. This is a simple chemistry called cooking. _You _can't possibly screw it up."

"You really have a lot to learn about Turks," Cissnei sighed and eyed the mixing bowl with uncertainty. The newbie didn't know when to quit, did she? "Tseng ranks us by ability to put gray hairs on his head. Whereas Reno goes all out for the glory, I'm far, far more creative with my failures than that simpleton."

"It can't be that bad."

"Ask Rude why he's bald someday. Go ahead. I dare you."

Instead of giving her yet another stupid deer in the headlights look--she had begun to wonder if that was all the intimidation rookie had to throw at her--she found a set of talon-like fingers latching onto the sleeve of her blazer and a rather abrupt sense of 'assistance' until she stood before the counter with the ingredients upon it, still holding the egg in a threatening manner.

Cissnei swore under her breath as the wooden spoon was pressed into her free hand, Elena looking mighty proud of herself at managing to survive this long.

"Now all you have to do is put the ingredients together. See. Like this." She measured out some flour and sugar and poured them into the bowl before turning to root through the refrigerator. Several seconds later, she turned to look at the auburn-haired Turk in puzzlement. "What kind of a kitchen doesn't have any milk?"

"This kitchen," Cissnei defended. "Use what's in the carton to your left."

"Soy doesn't count as milk," Elena scowled, holding the offending carton with distaste. "This will never do."

"Well, if you really feel that you need that horrid ingredient you call milk for this, then I guess you're going to have to go out and get it."

Elena shook her head. "We'll use the soy milk, because you'll just lock the door after I leave. I'm not that stupid."

"Correction. I'll lock the door and then take out a restraining order," Cissnei corrected, trying to remember if anyone in their department had ever actually succeeded in taking out a restraining order against another Turk before. "And if that doesn't work, then I'll send out a rather revealing bulletin to the Tseng/Elena shippers and watch the fireworks roll. You don't have a prayer."

She watched the rookie blush and pretend to be measuring out the correct amount of soy milk. "W-well, I-I'm not scared of you. D-do your worst."

Cissnei shook her head with a sigh. "It's never a good idea to ask for trouble."

"Just stir the stupid ingredients," Elena growled and turned back to the refrigerator in search of butter. "Good lord, don't you have _any _dairy products in this house?"

"Dairy is the devil."

"You need _help_. This is not normal." She selected what she hoped was the equivalent of butter and dumped it into the mixture before gesturing to the egg. "I'll give you the name of a good therapist. Right now though, break the egg and put it into the rest of the mixture."

Cissnei broke the egg as directed, making Elena raise an eyebrow. Without hesitation, she pointed to the auburn-haired Turk accusingly. "You've done this before. I knew it! No one breaks an egg like that and doesn't not know how to cook."

"Looks can be deceiving," she assured her and began stirring the mixture. "Just because I can handle the simple tasks doesn't mean that I'm any good at it. My kitchen won't stand for a successful attempt."

"Again, you need help. I've never seen anyone so afraid of dairy products or the perfectly normal, non-possessive, run of the mill, absolutely boring room you call a kitchen."

Cissnei pretended to ignore her. She was a rookie, she reminded herself. She didn't know any better.

Without waiting for direction, she placed spoonfuls of the cookie dough onto the cookie sheet and pointed to the oven. "There. Are you happy now?"

Elena nodded. "See. It wasn't that hard. Now we take the cookie sheet over to the oven like so…"

Cissnei turned back to the counter and grabbed a rag to wipe the remaining flour from its surface. It was then that her Turk senses kicked into gear.

"Elena. Wait!" she turned and lunged for the rookie, but it was too late.

It happened in an instant. The heel of Elena's boot struck the mangled up mess of suicidal eggs and like a chocobo who discovered the joys of the 'special' greens, she went down--hard. The cookie sheet swept backwards out of her hands as she made a valiant effort to cushion her fall to little avail with a yelp of surprise.

Cissnei ducked to the left to avoid being hit and could only grimace as the cookie sheet struck the toaster in the corner with a rattle of warning and knocked it onto the floor.

"Oww." Elena groaned and found herself looking up at the ceiling.

"Are you okay?" Cissnei asked, her Turk senses warning her that something was definitely wrong. Deciding that the cookie sheet would be fine where it landed, she knelt down to assist the rookie to her feet.

The eggs had other plans.

Like a group of proud soldiers avenging their fallen comrade, one by one they rolled forth from the carton and plummeted over the edge of the counter, landing with sickening splats atop the cookie sheet and into the wounded toaster. The last egg struck the little level and brought it into attack mode.

The toaster exploded, sending Cissnei scrambling for cover in the living room as the cookie dough and eggshell shrapnel pelted the immediate area.

Elena screamed as the bag of flour toppled over the edge of the counter and landed all over her, coating her in a thick dusting of white and effectively blinding her. Scrambling for traction against the egg-slicked floor, she could vaguely watch in horror as the toaster seemingly levitated off of the ground like something out of a horror movie and took aim.

Flames shot forth from its slots, sending tiny pieces of sugar cookies in her direction and forcing her to scream in absolute terror as they struck in rapid fire succession, tangling in her hair and coating her blazer.

Cissnei grabbed the blizzaga materia from her weapon and focused on the flames consuming the yellow curtains above the sink. It only took a few seconds to get the situation under control, but Elena was already up and running from the door, her eyes wide with terror.

She screamed as she ran down the stairs outside of the apartment and pointed to the auburn-haired Turk while shaking like an unfortunate leaf in the middle of the street below. She opened her mouth to say something, but took off running instead.

Cissnei crossed her arms across her chest with a sigh. It was going to take a lot of psychiatric help to remedy this one.

"I'll be the first to say it," Biggs held the robotic infant and rocked it back and forth, having chosen that moment to peer out of the closet to see just what had happened. "That was kinda cool."

"Shut up."

**------**

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions:**

**What's a good mission without a couple of kids?**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	84. Mission 84 Operation Kidding Around

**I feel that I have to explain just why Tseng has reappeared in this mission without it being explained well in text. You see, the mission that was lost was the one where they escaped from the fan girls and made their way back to Shinra, as well as Reeve getting shipped to a vegan south of the border Costan Restaurant by mistake. I'll leave the details up to your sick twisted little minds, though the actual mission was humorously tame by all means. That said, I present to you a mission that was easily one of my favorites to write of all time and I hope you will equally enjoy. And yes, there is a specific breed of the animal featured in this mission that CAN do what these guys do when frightened. ;) Hopefully you'll get a chuckle or two out of it. Enjoy. **

**Mission Eighty Four - Operation Kidding Around**

"Why is there a goat tied to your bookcase?"

Cissnei looked up from the stack of paperwork she was currently working on. "Why was there a case of hand squeezed organic fruit juice, two tickets to the Honeybee Inn, a disposable camera with a note that said 'Do not forget our special weekend, it was super fun' with a little winking smiley, a box of animal crackers, a sparkly butterfly hair tie, and a message on the machine from some guy name Guido who claims you have his cowboy hat, on your desk this morning?"

Tseng blinked and averted his eyes, pretending to adjust his tie. "Goat? I don't see a goat. That's a very nice, er, eco-friendly garbage disposal unit you have there…"

"You're not making the situation any better, Sir."

"Okay," Tseng sighed. "You're fairly intelligent enough to realize that blackmailing one another will only end in complete and total humiliation, so I'll cut you a deal. This conversation _never _took place. You didn't see anything. I didn't see anything. No one says anything to the President, Lazard, Scarlet, Heidegger, Hojo, or anyone else with internet and blogging privileges and we both walk away with our fragile dignity in tact. Do we have a deal?"

"Leave the animal crackers," she said matter-of-factly, feeling strangely like some sort of high profile mob boss-in-training. It wasn't often she got to make demands with Tseng's fragile dignity being at stake. "Hades needs to eat something other than my files."

**Twelve hours and seventeen minutes earlier that day…**

**Location: Turk's Lounge, 7:00 A.M.**

It was Reno who stumbled upon the female Turk curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth, looking every bit as terrified as someone who might have seen a ghost. For a moment, he merely stood behind the coffee table, sipping a cup of coffee and watching. When it became apparent that something had obviously happened to shatter whatever mental sanity the unfortunate blonde might have had, he nodded.

"You tried to teach her how to cook, didn't you." It wasn't a question, more of an assumption, but it was all Reno could do to prevent himself from madly dashing from the lounge to collect the 300 gil Rude owed him.

Elena quivered in terror. "Toaster. Bad. Not sane. Eggs. Oh, Gaia, not the eggs."

Reno smirked. He had to give his partner credit, this was the first time she had ever actually _broken _a newbie.

"Hey, Rude," he whispered as the bald man casually stepped into the lounge to get a cup of coffee. "Check it out. I think we have a new record on our hands."

Rude adjusted his shades in mild fascination and shook his head. "She tried to teach her how to cook, didn't she."

"Yep." Reno took a sip of his coffee. "'Nei didn't just break her though, she _destroyed _her. That's gotta be worth more than 300 gil, big guy."

Rude nodded and quickly counted out what he owed his comrade as the familiar steps of their auburn-haired female comrade echoed from the hallway en route to her office, none the wiser to what was taking place in the lounge. Well, Rude had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew the fragile state of mind Elena was in at this point, but he wasn't about to bring it up, at least not without finding some way to utilize Reno as an effective shield.

Several minutes later, those same set of footsteps began walking back towards the lounge and she peered into the lounge, completely ignoring Elena. "Rude. I need some help with something."

The bald one nodded.

Reno crossed his arms in frustration. "How come I'm never needed for anything."

"Because the president called me shouting that he needed urgent assistance," she sighed. "In case he's fallen and can't get up--again, I won't have to abuse a series of Float spells and eventually rig some sort of pulley system out of rubber bands, paper clips, and heavy duty extension cords to help him up this time."

"Well played. Have fun, big guy." Reno grimaced and Rude nodded with a hint of a smile at the memory of that night at Rufus's sixteenth birthday party.

**President Shinra's Office, 7:15 A.M.**

Rude had to admit that he was in no way disappointed when they found President Shinra pacing back and forth in front of his desk and not recreating a shameful rendition of Humpty Dumpty. He wasn't sure just where they would have gotten the extension cords had that been the case. There seemed to be a rather dire shortage of them for some reason.

"You wanted to see us, Sir?" his comrade began with that forced sense of dread in her voice that could only come with the Turk intuition of impending failure.

The President nodded and handed Cissnei an important looking piece of paper and for a moment, Rude wondered if they might actually be facing a real, genuine, honest to Holy crisis this time. After all, no one had been watching AVALANCHE lately and it was entirely possible that for once, the safety of their mismanaged company might need saving from something other than the tabloids. They might actually--

"You're joking, right?"

Rude blinked at the tone of his comrade and couldn't help but look at her in surprise at daring to address the man who currently assigned someone to signing their paychecks with such a tone.

"It is a matter of National Security that the item in that print out be brought here immediately."

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, but doesn't Junon fall under Shinra's military control? You stationed the _entire _military there. Couldn't you just call them instead of sending us?"

"No. I can't." The President looked at the auburn-haired Turk as though she had lost her mind. "They're mean to me."

The two Turks exchanged looks. Had the man in charge of Midgar and quite possibly deluded by thoughts of ruling the world just said that out loud? Deciding in mutual super secret Turk code that they really didn't want to admit that out loud and risk a fit of hysterical, immature snickering, both pretended to be fascinated by the floor.

"Well, what are you two still standing my office for? I said get me that item!"

Cissnei nodded, trying not to show any hint of amusement as she quickly turned and hurried out of the office with Rude in tow. When they were safely out of earshot, she couldn't help but start laughing.

"What's so funny?" Rude blinked, wondering just what was written on that slip of paper.

"This." She handed it to him.

Rude's eyes widened behind his sunglasses and a few seconds later, he too began laughing. "Tell me this is a joke."

**Somewhere in Junon Territory, 10:30 A.M.**

"Remind me again why I am here?"

Sephiroth was humiliated. Not only had he been forced on an emergency mission by Lazard of all people, but it was a Wednesday and that meant that he had to sacrifice a perfectly good hair appointment to board a helicopter and fly to the middle of nowhere somewhere in Junon territory only to find himself faced with a SOLDIER's worst nightmare--a barnyard.

Angeal shrugged and secured the tether around an oak tree, watching Zack examine it with great puzzlement. "Because we're just that cool."

"Genesis," Sephiroth scowled watching the man select a perfectly good shade spot under another tree and pull out a copy of LOVELESS as usual. "Please get Angeal a dictionary so he can look up the word 'cool' and become acquainted with it."

Genesis promptly flipped him the middle finger without even looking up from his book.

Sephiroth sighed and wrinkled his nose at the smell of the barnyard. "None of us will mention this on our resumes. Understood?"

"What exactly _is _our mission again?"

"Fend off the penguins in the suits, as usual."

"Penguins? Gosh this is gonna be awesome!" Zack scratched the back of his neck and proceeded to run around the tree until the tether grew taut, knocking him onto his backside. "Angeal! I need a longer rope again."

Sephiroth rolled his eyes as his comrade shook his head and resisted the urge to mimic the face palm move he'd seen a few of the more sensible Turks use from time to time. "Just go back the way you went around the tree, Puppy."

"You're such a genius, Angeal!" Zack proceeded to run back around the tree. "Are all SOLDIERs as smart as you?"

"Gaia I hope not," Sephiroth grumbled and kicked a small cob of corn under the fence and watched the timid animal skitter closer and carry it off like a trophy. "Just, let us know if you see anything unusual, okay. The sooner we humiliate them and send them on their way, the sooner we get to go home. My hairdresser can't fit me in until next week if I don't make the appointment today."

"That's a shame," Angeal said.

"You have no idea. Do you think this gorgeous demi-god look just _happens _on its own?"

**Local shrubbery, 10:45 A.M.**

"Do SOLDIERs ever talk about anything other than hair care products and Caesar salads?" Cissnei adjusted the binoculars with a sigh.

"They're SOLDIERs, 'Nei. What did you think they would talk about? Motorcycles and babes?"

"I dunno," she said. "Angeal just compared your pony tail to a throwback style of Hojo's from his 'frisky' years, aka, the 80s."

Reno practically grabbed the binoculars from her hands. "No way, yo! There is nothing remotely 80s about it!"

Rude grunted in amusement and watched the female Turk wrestle the binoculars back into her possession.

"Look alive boys, we have a nanny."

**By the fencepost, 11:50 A.M.**

"And you have got to try this new foot powder I got over in Mideel," Sephiroth said. "Put it on once and haven't had athlete's foot since."

"I have to get myself some of that," Angeal nodded in agreement.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Sephiroth barely had time to react as a familiar bald Turk dove over the low wooden fence and tackled a small, plump brown nanny goat to the ground, flanked by two familiar red heads.

The goats around it bleated in terror before stiffening abruptly and collapsing to the ground like furry sacks of potatoes.

"Whoa," Zack's eyes were wide at the motionless goats surrounding the bald Turk, who swept the terrified nanny over his shoulder and bolted for the opposite side of the fence where Reno and Cissnei were already running. "I didn't know you could turn them off! That's wicked cool! Did ya see that, Angeal?

"Shut up, Puppy." Angeal sidestepped a fallen goat and watched another rise from the 'grave.' He dropped his sword in fright and backed away, only to bump into another one of the terrified, skittering creatures making a recovery. "Zombie goat!"

Genesis merely raised an eyebrow and continued reading as Sephiroth ran past, arms outstretched in a valiant attempt to prevent the bald one from reaching his comrades.

"Hurry man!" Reno slowed his pace just enough until Rude was at his side. The goat gave a pathetic bleat and promptly fainted again. "He's gaining on us!"

And he was. In a matter of seconds, he would have the bald one on the ground, the male redhead humiliated, and the goat safely back on solid ground. He would deal with the other Turk later.

"No one escapes from the mighty Seph--" A mouthful of bland, foul, warm liquid filled his mouth in mid-sentence, sending him back several paces.

Reno smirked and grabbed another one of the goat's teats and squeezed a steady stream of milk directly into the irate general's emerald eyes. "You might be on to something about this dairy thing, 'Nei! It's powerful stuff!"

Sputtering and swearing, Sephiroth's foot caught against his own boot and he the went down--hard. Hands splayed before him, milk running down over his perfect porcelain skin, he landed face first into the dirt.

Reno couldn't help but thumb his nose at the SOLDIERs as the chopper lifted away from the earth and sped towards Midgar a short moment later.

...............

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**The Censorship Police are coming to Shinra and it's all Rude's fault!**

**Tune in folks for a very ::CENSORED:: mission. Admit it, you're curious. ;) **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : )**


	85. Mission 85 Operation Censorship

**Sorry about the lengthy delay folks. Was spending time with my awesome little sis and she made the mistake of allowing me to play the copy of Final Fantasy XIII I'd sent with her down at her and her boyfriend's place because they have a PS3 and I don't yet. Needless to say, that game has officially stolen my soul during the time I spent visiting. A certain few scenes also gave me a great idea for a fun parody mock-u-mission later on for this fic, which you all will enjoy. See. Good things do happen when the Muse is away on a rare vacation-they just happen slower. XD Anyway, enjoy this mission folks and please give a warm welcome to Censorship Lady…Midgar's newest villain.**

**Mission Eighty Five - Operation Censorship  
**

Rude had a routine.

Every Thursday, at exactly five forty five in the evening, he would retreat to his office under the guise of 'paperwork,' retrieve his super secret MP3 player, set it to smooth jazz hip hop reggae, dust off the computer at his desk, but making certain to leave just enough across the top in case of emergency, and lock the door. After all, Rude was the sort of man who just didn't use the computer, at least, that's what he wanted them to think. The truth of the matter was that he was actually quite proficient in its use. Proficient enough to slip through the company firewall to access the 'restricted' websites.

He allowed a rare smirk and settled into his chair, watching the screen load.

"_**You have 231 new reviews." **_

He nodded in approval and began answering them each with his own personal, heartfelt sincerity.

**Outside of Rude's Office…**

Reeve was having a good day. He's managed to successfully finish his workload for the week and successfully obtained a cup of tea before it could be tampered with by Reno. Not only that, but so far, he'd not even run out of paperclips yet. Indeed, it was a good day.

And then the knocking upon his door began. Reeve took a sip of his tea and craned his neck towards it. "Door's open."

Instead of a Turk wandering through the doorway though, it was a woman who looked as though she could terrify small children with her strict persona and no doubt spent her free time kicking puppies for amusement.

"Mr. Tuesti I presume? I'm here on behalf of the Association of Easily Offended Fan Girls and Pairing Shippers Anonymous."

Reeve blinked. They had an association for that? Suddenly terrified for his life, he set the cup of tea down and looked at her, wondering just what Reno did now. "Um, okay, why exactly are you here?"

"It's Rude," she deadpanned.

"Rude?" The engineer couldn't help but ask. "Um, no offense, but all I asked was-"

She held up a clipboard, completely ignoring the unfortunate engineer and began looking around his office, checking things off of a list. Reeve raised an eyebrow.

"Miss? May I ask just what you are doing?"

"Unacceptable…" She turned and left his office, proceeding to investigate the hallway. "Absolutely unacceptable."

Reeve reached for his PHS, hid beneath his desk for added precaution, and dialed a familiar number.

"_What do you want, Reeve?" _Tseng's voice was weary, as though someone was blackmailing him.

"Send help. There's a crazed she-banshee in the hallway and it's not one of ours."

**A full ten minutes later…**

Tseng had heard rumors of a foe so dangerous, it made the mailman look like a chocobo. No janitor could stand up to her. No SOLDIER would dare to. Not even his predecessor would dare to say anything demeaning to the person standing in front of him and his gathering of Turks he'd managed to corral. Well, most of them. Reno wasn't in his room and Rude for some reason had locked the door. And Vincent hadn't been seen since Tuesday at best.

It was for the best, he assured himself. The last thing he really needed today was Reno screwing things up when they were already on thinner than thin ice.

"Can I ask to whom I owe the occasion to?" he asked, hesitant, and wondering just which Turk he was going to have to murder over this one. A part of him wanted it to be Reno. He didn't have a really good, solid reason to turn the red head into an undead and throw phoenix downs at him all day yet.

She adjusted her glasses and looked up from the clipboard, shaking her head. "I'm here to investigate a series of complaints from the Association of Easily Offended Fan Girls and their sister society, Pairing Shippers Anonymous. There have been complaints that certain members of your department are exhibiting an extremely sexist view of women and I'm here to make certain that it changes back to a more equal and less offensive workplace by censoring everything that promotes the chauvinist male philosophy and can be seen as demeaning to a woman."

Tseng blinked, casting a questioning look to both Cissnei and Elena, the latter whom shrugged in honest confusion and the greener Turk quivering in terror at the accusation.

"No offense," he said. "There isn't anything remotely offensive about our department. It's a neutral zone. Perhaps you mean the SOLDIER division?"

Censorship Lady, as she was to be referred to as at this point looked over the rims of her glasses and clucked her tongue in disapproval. "We'll just see about that."

**Fourteen Minutes later…**

They'd lost the stapler, the paperclips, most of the ink pens, and their right to use manila folders because all had been deemed 'female' and were at risk of showing the world that they were underappreciated and highly offensive.

It hadn't stopped at office supplies though. No. The slaughter of their neutrality for seemingly innocent everyday objects had continued as Censorship Lady whipped through their department with a more damaging trail than Reno could do on his finest days.

She took the tea kettle and most of the tea. The coffee pot had landed in the trashcan. The only way any of the poor defenseless teacups had managed to survive was because Reeve had been bold enough to successfully steal them when the mad she-banshee wasn't looking and managed to barricade himself inside of his office to hold them for ransom.

But it was what Censorship Lady did next that dropped the crisis level into desperate measures territory.

Without further ado, she walked over to the restrooms at the end of the hallway and pointed to the symbol for the ladies restroom.

"It's demeaning!" she spat. "She's showing too much skin and promoting the entire female race as little more than harlots in skirts. This is unacceptable and sexist."

Both Cissnei and Elena blinked and watched Censorship Lady tack a new sign over the relatively simple symbol for the woman's restroom.

"I foresee this causing problems down the road…" Cissnei looked to her superior for help. Instead though, Tseng looked as though he was about to start crying with humiliation, no doubt seeing the same glimpse of the future she had just seen upon watching the innocent plastic woman in a skirt turned into the same symbol as a man.

Before he could react appropriately though, Censorship Lady reached up and grabbed his ponytail with her talon-like fingers. "This is downright offensive. You are making a mockery of women everywhere! It needs to go!"

Both Cissnei and Elena traded glances. Now it was getting serious. Reaching a rare, mutual agreement that would never happen again so long as the both of them lived, and would never be spoken of by anyone who wished to remain living, so help them Gaia, Holy, Shiva, and Ifrit, they nodded.

"For your information, I own three skirts, a very nice evening gown, a rather eccentric charm bracelet, and god forbid I'm about to admit this, a pair of stilettos that makes Sephiroth's choice of fashion look like the Final Fantasy X line," Cissnei said, not wanting to believe that she was actually going to go through with saving her superior officer's ponytail from become a casualty, or that she was standing up to someone without a level or weaknesses, so claimed the Libra, and providing enough blackmail material for years to come. She could already see Tseng raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I'm fairly certain Elena's wardrobe is ten times more impressive and 'female' than my own."

"She's right," the blonde nodded. "I've got a fashionable collection of mini skirts I'm not afraid to wear out in public and a bikini that would turn this fic into the M category."

Censorship Lady's eyes narrowed and she withdrew a small remote from her pocket. "Until your department remedies its sexist attitude, drastic measures are going to have to be taken. Here is a list of the terms deemed offensive by the sister societies."

"You have got to be kidding me." Tseng quickly read over it, his eyes narrowed. "I still do not understand just what happened that prompted this little 'visit.'" He was going to get Lazard for this.

"It's Rude," Censorship Lady deadpanned. "Until you learn how to behave like gentlemen and promote a suitable atmosphere for the Association of Easily Offended Fan Girls and their sister society, Pairing Shippers Anonymous, I'm afraid that everything unpleasing to them must be censored until further notice. Everything on that list as well as a few other things are going to be kept from the public eye."

"But ::**CENSORED**:: isn't-" Tseng paused. "Did you really just censor me?"

Censorship Lady grinned and walked away, vanishing a few minutes later as though she had never existed.

Cissnei looked over the list in surprise. "You mean we really can't say ::**CENSORED**:: anymore? Wait, ::**CENSORED**:: isn't a bad word. In fact, ::**CENSORED**:: is a staple in this department! How are we supposed to file reports? We need that word! "

"And at least thirteen others on this list," Tseng sighed and looked at her. "Looks like you'll have to raid Reno's stash of 'My pretty moogle' stickers until we get this sorted out and hope that whoever reads your reports makes a reasonable connection. We can only hope that it's only limited to this department."

"What if it's not?" Elena couldn't help but ask.

"I don't know," Tseng crumpled the list, defeated. "But let's think positive. At least if they call us, we won't know what they're talking about. Now we need to rally everyone together. We need to have a nice long talk about this and figure out just what happened."

"I'll go find Reno," Elena volunteered, fleeing for the last place she had seen him that day, half out of terror that whatever truce was in effect had already worn off.

"I need to talk to Vincent anyway," Cissnei growled under her breath.

"By the way, I just have to ask because I'm curious. You really have a pair of stilettos?" Tseng asked, trying not to look even vaguely amused at the thought.

"You dare tell _anyone_, and I'll develop that camera from your 'special' weekend and have it all over the internet before you even know your dignity is gone."

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Reno has a frightening glimpse of the future when he falls unconscious after a vicious encounter with a coffee cup in the lounge.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	86. Mission 86 Operation Desperate Measure

**This mission isn't terribly great in my opinion since I wrote it on the fly because I realized that I needed to write **_**something **_**on this fic. Hopefully it will make you smile at least a little bit as I try to create a schedule for the fics and get back on track. ;) I will do far better in the next one to make up for this short mission, folks. I promise. Sorry about the long hiatus as well. The Turks needed a well deserved vacation courtesy of the Muse's tough summer in the writing world, (I have enough professional flames to heat my house for the upcoming winter FTW,) and she's now rebuilding her confidence yet again. (This happens every few years for the record, and I owe ya'll greatly for the polite reviews I've been receiving both on this fic and the other fic. You folks totally rock!) **

**Also, if I haven't reviewed your stories that I promised to review, drop me a polite PM to remind me. I will do my best to get it read and reviewed right away now that I've got some free time on my hands. ;) That said, enjoy folks. Fourteen missions left!**

**Mission Eighty Six - Operation Desperate Measure**

He never imagined he would be reduced to such desperate measures.

Tseng took a deep breath and sat down at his desk, trying to compose himself long enough to go through with this. It needed to be done. There was no more avoiding it. He was the leader of the Turks darn it. There was nothing he could not handle.

His hand hovered over the handle of the desk drawer for a moment before he drew his hand away quickly. There had to be a better way. There just had to be. Didn't he have the best collection of 'brilliant' morons in the country at his disposal? Surely they would be more than capable of giving him a feasible, less humiliating alternative to get through this crisis of epic proportions.

Then again, at the moment, the one had locked himself in his office doing Gaia knows what, one hadn't been seen since Tuesday and was presumed either K/Oed by the auburn-haired female across the hallway trying to seemingly bargain with the 'dairy devil' occupying her office or humiliated beyond his limits enough to jump onto the passing Kingdom Heart's fandom bus. And to make matters worse, the resident newbie was out scouring the floor for the other red head, who no doubt, was going to make a crisis like this explode-literally-sometime soon. It was only a matter of time.

He rubbed his forehead with a defeated sigh. Why did these sorts of things always happen to him? Seriously, it was as though the universe had decided to single him out and repeatedly humiliate him.

Had it not been for the fact that a sympathetic Reeve was guarding three tiny tea cups and the lone surviving coffee mug in the office next door, he probably would have started crying. Instead, he looked down at the drawer again with a nod. He needed to do this. There were no alternatives.

"Be a man, Tseng," he whispered to himself. "You can do this."

He closed his eyes with a deep breath and quickly drew the drawer open. Without pausing, he swiped the item from within and slammed the drawer shut with a loud clacking sound. Feeling the item in his hand, he slowly opened his eyes and stared at the brilliant hot pink rectangle adorned in glittery sequin faux jewels that shone bright in the dull light of his otherwise dreary office. Hands trembling, he flipped it open and pressed the little golden button with the tiny glittery golden star stuck to it.

There was no turning back now. He was committed.

The line connected almost immediately and Tseng raised an eyebrow in utter terror. Did he literally sit there waiting for the 'call' constantly?

"Lazard," Tseng closed his eyes in humiliation. "I need a favor."

**Ten minutes later, Undisclosed Location**

Tseng could not remember the last time he had checked an area so thoroughly for any signs of life. He'd scoured the entire area in search of cameras, microphones, real bugs, fake bugs, bed bugs, thugs, pugs (he never quite trusted the cuteness factor,) wi-fi, hackers, bloggers, tweeters, shippers, fan girls, fan boys, friends, enemies, blackmailers, mailmen, and janitors.

Satisfied that absolutely no one was within the vicinity to witness the complete and total loss of his remaining dignity, he adjusted the fedora with a sigh and took a seat upon the park bench, trying to adjust to the trench coat he'd managed to pawn off of a blonde infantryman somewhere between the Department of Administrative Research floor and the lobby. Why it smelled like pastries and had pocketfuls of rainbow sprinkles, he had no idea, but it was the best he could get for 3 gil and a candy bar he'd swiped from Reno's desk. He'd never imagined Scarlet's infantrymen could be so desperate.

"Oh dear, you poor thing. You should have called me sooner! That trench coat went out of style years ago!"

Tseng rubbed his forehead and tried his best to not look embarrassed as the blonde-haired man in the sequin pinstripe suit took a casual seat on the bench beside him, looking happier than any man should ever look.

"I will keep that in mind," was all Tseng said, shying away as Lazard draped an arm over his shoulder, no doubt examining the fedora.

"Nice. This is from the detective line. Beautiful choice for your profession. The coat though, needs work."

Tseng made a mental note to give Rude a minor promotion for his tastes in fashion.

"Lazard…"

"Maybe something in a tan to bring out the brown of this fedora-"

"Lazard-" he said, a little more forcefully this time.

"And that tie is absolutely disgusting. It's not even worthy of being a tie."

Tseng cleared his throat and resisted the urge to just K/O the Director of SOLDIER and make a glorified run back to his office right then and there. Maybe if he was lucky, he could convince either Reeve or Cissnei to bestow several rounds of Confuse spells upon him to wipe this ordeal from his memory.

"This is my most difficult challenge yet since you didn't seek my help sooner," Lazard continued talking. "But don't worry, I can fix this. I can fix this."

"Actually, Lazard, I called you because of a different problem."

"Nonsense, Tseng, this is far more dire!"

"No," Tseng scowled. "I'm sort of in need of-"

"No need to be embarrassed about it. Lots of men cannot pair the correct pair of pants with their dress shirt. _Let _me help you, Tseng. You _need _my help."

Tseng fought back a mental shudder at the thought of just what 'help' might entail when one sought the help of the rather, well, flamboyant director who had already zeroed in on his fashion tastes, wishing for a brief moment that he could go back in time and not have called in the first place. It wasn't as though he had hit rock bottom yet.

He lowered his eyes in shame. Yes, yes he had. He'd fallen _past _rock bottom the moment he had to be rescued by the female members of his department from the Censorship Lady's almighty fan fiction censoring powers.

"Okay," he said, defeated. "If I let you 'fix' my wardrobe, will you please-stop touching my fedora!"

He swatted the overzealous director's hand away with a low growl. Lazard backed away like a wounded puppy.

"You, sir, are mean."

"I'm not supposed to be nice!" Tseng snapped, immediately regretting his words. He needed Lazard's help unfortunately. "Alright, alright, I won't yell again. Look, we, er, sort of need your 'skills' to help us with a little bit of a crisis."

"Well, I'm not helping you until you say you're sorry." Lazard crossed his arms across his chest and looked away, offended.

"I'll let you into my apartment for a full three hours to do as you please."

Larard's eyes narrowed at the prospect, as though not believing the leader of the Turks. "Even the armoire?"

"Especially the armoire. Look, please don't make me go to Scarlet for help here. I'm a desperate man, beyond desperate and you are the only one who can help me with what needs to be done."

"Okay, but no fussing over what I choose for you to wear," Lazard smirked. "And you must promise to wear it to work."

Tseng paled in horror. Lazard was serious though. He could see it in the director's eyes.

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Deal."

"Pleasure doing business with you. Now you just let me handle this," Lazard rested a hand upon Tseng's shoulder with a confident wink. "I'm going to need full use of your Turks temporarily also."

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**It came from the inter-web and none could stand in its path…**

**Tune in next time folks. You won't want to miss this one.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	87. Mission 87 Operation Interweb

**The Muse lacks a good explanation for this mission, so she's just going to let you all get right to the reading. I'm thinking the updates will be rolling out here soon bi-weekly on the fics, with this one being the first and third weeks of the month, and the other on the other two weeks. Don't hold me to that though, as it can change pretty quickly. Enjoy folks and hopefully this mission and the ones that come after it will be amusing at least. : ) **

**Mission Eighty Seven - Operation Interweb**

Reno Sinclair rarely, if ever played by the rules.

He'd rigged more Uno games in his career than Lazard had of matching cufflinks, bilked plenty of infantrymen out of their lunch money by telling them that they were donating to help save the helpless dust bunnies, and he'd even found a way to successfully cheat at tic-tac-toe. None of his fellow Turks really cared too much to bother with finding out his motives half the time because he was Reno. He didn't need a motive. He just did things because he could.

He was, in the terms of several of his fellow Turks, a 'brilliant idiot" after all. Which was why, as he strode towards the other auburn-haired female seated on the couch in the lounge, laptop computer balanced precariously upon her lap and shooting almost paranoid looks at the door from time to time, no one bothered to deter his path of ever growing humiliation.

"Hey, 'Nei." He plopped down upon the couch beside her and slung an arm over he shoulder. "Whatcha doing?"

"Go away, Reno." Was the reply, which only served to make him grin harder.

"You acknowledged my presence, therefore I exist now." His grin intensified as she grumbled something under her breath and looked at him with a look that relayed he had more than enough warning by now.

"Don't you have other people to bug today, like Rude?"

"Can't," he said. "Locked his office and won't come out."

Cissnei sighed. Why hadn't she thought of doing that? Then again, the idea of sharing space with a goat that thought it owned the place made her cringe. She looked back to her computer screen.

"What about Elena?"

"It's her day off."

Her eyebrow twitched at the thought of the newbie getting a day off and not her.

"Reeve?"

"Off doing NPC things."

"What about Tseng?"

"He's missing in action."

"Fantastic," she said with the enthusiasm of a hung over chocobo. "Look, I'll give you 50 gil if you just go away for one hour and let me alone."

"Whatcha making there," he pressed his nose closer to the screen and pretended to read it. "Making an inappropriate video or something?"

"Does your mind ever leave the gutter?"

"Only on days that don't end in 'y.'"

"Go away."

"Nope. I'm gonna stay yo."

She was just about to honor the urge to knock him unconscious and drag his body into the hallway when the quivering mess of a man crept through the doorway, looking slightly more paranoid than usual and trying to look his rank. She sighed and peered over the top of her laptop.

"Over here, Vincent." He looked at her and nodded, trying to appear Turk-like despite his current mid-life crisis. He'd been informed that there was a donut in it for him if he behaved for at least an hour without any emotional breakdowns or unfit parent ramblings-long enough to complete their current mission. His eyes fell upon Reno in almost-panic.

"He's-"

"Just leaving," she said and tried to shove Reno off of the couch.

"Oh, so the two of you are going to make a naughty video yo? I never knew you swung that-ow!"

Reno recoiled with the slap across the side of his face, the auburn-haired female looking absolutely furious over the accusation.

"Mind out of the gutter, now!"

"But, 'Nei, I can help. I mean, we can work something out yo. I'll even bring the feather duster-"

Another slap across the face was his answer.

"Sixty gil if you go away right now."

"Sixy?" Reno raised an eyebrow.

"Seventy."

"Nope."

"Eighty five and I don't K/O you and let the fan girls have their sick twisted ways with you. They're some sick stuff on the fan fiction sites lately."

Reno paled in horror at the very thought and got to his feet.

"Alright, alright, deal. But 'Nei, I really think I'd be good at this-"

"You have ten seconds to leave. I'm counting them right now."

Reno, with a disgruntle sigh trudged across the lounge floor and slammed the door behind him, muttering how he never got to have any fun around here.

"Is he gone yet?" Vincent asked timidly. Cissnei got up and crept over to the door, listening. There was no doubt in her mind that Reno was lurking on the opposite side, but as long as he stayed there, life was good. She didn't need him ruining the mission that had landed in her inbox earlier that morning.

"Yep, he's gone." Satisfied that she was alone with the stoic, suffering from a bad case of mpreg Turk, she turned back to her computer, only to find him leaning over it, fingers poking at the screen in awe.

"Vincent?"

"So many fish."

Cissnei raised an eyebrow. Fish? There were no fish in the lounge. Vincent must have been a lot more insane than she thought. Then again, they did have another mommy and me class to attend that week…

"Vincent, are you sure you're okay? I mean, with the thing and all."

"How do you suppose they got them into that little box?" he asked, pointing to the rectangular box on the screen where several koi swam back and forth peacefully.

"Oh, you mean the screensaver?" Cissnei blinked. "Um, well, you see I put them there."

"You did?" Vincent's eyes widened in horror and he looked back at the screen immediately. "They look sad."

"They're not," she said matter of factly. "They're not real-"

"Don't worry little fishes! I'll save you!"

Cissnei had just enough time to grab her computer before Vincent could 'save' the fish from being 'confined' in the digital world. She gave him a look of disbelief as he continued to glare at the computer in her hands. Maybe this mission was a bad idea after all. "Vincent, calm down. They're just pixels."

"Pixels have feelings too!" he said with a voice that was bordering on hysterical crying. Cissnei blinked. He was getting upset over some virtual fish already? There was no way he was ready for this lesson.

"Okay, okay," she said comfortingly. "They have feelings. See-" She clicked on the touch screen and the fish vanished. "Gone, see, they escaped."

"Are they happy?"

"Yes, Vincent, they are happy. Happy little koi who are living in happy little koi houses and raising happy little koi babies. Now, can I show you how to do this now?"

"Good. They looked sad."

Cissnei sat beside him and placed the laptop on the coffee table in front of the two of them. "Okay, Vincent, I've been instructed to teach you how send an email."

**Twenty Minutes later…**

Reno found her sitting in the lounge, staring off into space, looking as though someone had decided to firaga her tie and the proceeded to summon Knights of the Round on the entire lounge. The cupboards were scorched. The tea cups we in disarray. She had a cup of coffee in her trembling hands and the computer was sitting with a blank screen in front of her, Vincent nowhere to be seen.

"'Nei?" he asked quietly, trying to hide his amusement.

"The world's going to end, Reno." was all she said as she took a sip of the coffee. "We're doomed."

Reno, much to his credit, sat down beside her and draped an arm over her shoulder. "Nah, it'll be alright. It's just Vincent."

"He's discovered Farmville," she said, not taking her eyes off of the wall. "We're doomed."

"So?" Reno blinked. "It's just a game."

"Reeve gifted him a chicken…"

Again, Reno blinked. "It's just a game, 'Nei."

She shot Reno a deathly serious look. "It's happening, Reno. The worst case scenario is happening."

He shrugged it off as a lack of caffeine. "Meh, nothing to worry about, 'Nei. It's Vincent. He'll probably try to revive the mouse or something."

"But, Reno, he's neighbors with Hojo and Rufus."

Reno blinked. Vincent had neighbors? Already? He looked at his comrade and raised an eyebrow. "How many does he have?"

"Three hundred and eighty seven," she deadpanned.

Reno's mouth dropped open, floored. "That's not fair! I only have eighty eight! How dare he steal my neighbors."

"Not you too!" she half shrieked, wondering if for one second if she was dreaming. Reno couldn't play Farmville, could he? He was, well, Reno.

"Be back later, 'Nei, I have cabbage to harvest." Before she could stop him, he was gone. She picked up her PHS and dialed a number she never thought she would have to.

The phone rang several seconds before going to voicemail.

"You have reached the office of President Shinra. I'm out harvesting my blueberries right now, but when I get back, one of my underlings will be in touch with you."

Cissnei paled in horror. This was wide-spread, already? Surely such a catastrophe could not be happening. She dialed another number she knew all too well and waited for the line to connect.

"Hello?"

"For the love of all that is holy, please tell me you're not harvesting things, Kunsel."

"Harvesting?"

"You know, virtual fruits and things."

"Can't," the under appreciated SOLDIER second class sighed. "Don't have enough friends to expand my farm."

"Thank Gaia," the auburn-haired Turk said. "Meet me at the cafeteria. I need your help with something."

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**With productivity at a virtual standstill, Shinra unrolls its answer to the social network craze…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	88. Mission 88 Operation Social Network

**Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you an update finally. For future reference, I needed to write this mission the way I did. My muse wouldn't stop until I dropped everything and did so. Hopefully, you will find it amusing to say the least. Yes, many hours were wasted playing Farmville for this one. I want to say that I'll have more updates on a timely basis, but I'd be lying if I said I had the time to dedicate to regular updates. (Though I will try because of the holidays.) That said, enjoy this fun chapter while I try to get ahead of the game. Bonus cookies to anyone who can figure out just what Shinra's answer to the social network craze is. **

**Mission Eighty Eight - Operation Social Network**

To say that Tseng was having a bad day was an impossible understatement. He'd spent several hours talking to the half empty coffee cup atop his desk in a futile attempt to reach some semblance of enlightenment regarding just why he was stuck as the leader of the Turks of all people, and where to go from there. He'd tried everything from positive anecdotes to even reasoning that things would be okay.

And then the memo landed in his inbox.

For a moment, he merely remained sitting at his desk, staring at the inbox atop his desk where the lone sheet of paper sat, glaring back at him and threatening his very sanity. It hadn't helped that Cissnei was beyond pale as she delivered it to him muttering something about needing more phoenix downs or something to that effect. Tseng wasn't exactly certain just _what _she has been muttering about, now that he thought about it.

Taking a deep breath and praying that it wasn't Lazard's summoning of him for a 'makeover' like he'd agreed to, Tseng retrieved the piece of paper and began to read over it.

**Shinra Corporate Boardroom, One Hour Later**

He wasn't even certain just why they were having a board meeting so early in the morning. Hojo looked as though he was about to fall asleep in his cup of coffee. Scarlet was filing her nails and looking as though she had rushed to put her makeup on-none to gracefully, he just had to add. Heidegger was polishing off a donut. Palmer was slathering lard over what looked to be a bagel-the jury was still out on that one. Hollander actually was asleep. And to the best of the leader of the Turk's knowledge, Lazard was the only one who looked remotely 'alive' at this hour.

Then again, Tseng cursed silently. Their departments were the only ones who bothered to start work before seven in the morning. Not even the president himself got up that early.

But today, for some reason, President Shinra stood at the head of the table, wearing his pajamas still, but looking the most awake he'd ever seen him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a crisis."

Tseng rolled his eyes at the thought. What could it possibly be this time? They'd already ensured that all of Rufus's pencils were filed down and the corners cut from his notebook paper so the poor lad wouldn't harm himself by accident.

But, instead of saying anything that could brand him a spoilsport to the semi-neurotic man who signed the paychecks of his department, Tseng sat straighter and attempted to look dignified and attentive to whatever the man had to say.

President Shinra pointed to the white poster board behind him and looked at Lazard, who got up and quickly retrieved the decorated baton Tseng could not help but notice to be covered in sparkly orange and black glitter. Hadn't Halloween been weeks ago? "As many of you know, these past few days have been less than peaceful here at Shinra, Inc. Productivity has slowed to a virtual standstill in all departments."

Tseng mentally sighed. Productivity? He doubted the man even knew the definition of said word. He pretended to pay attention none-the-less though.

"Through careful monitoring, we've been able to trace the source of said infestation," he looked towards Tseng a little too enthusiastically for the man's liking. "And have discovered that it could only be from one place-Junon."

The leader of the Turks raised an eyebrow at the thought. Didn't Shinra already own Junon?

"It is becoming an epidemic that if it isn't remedied soon, could bring this multi-gillion dollar enterprise to its knees."

"Can we hurry this along?" Scarlet said and continued to file her nails. "My raspberries are withering."

Tseng shuddered at the thought.

"Yeah, and I've got truffles to hunt!" Palmer whined.

"You are a truffle," Heidegger muttered.

"See if I send you anymore watering cans!"

"You wouldn't dare stop sending to me! I'm the only one who can gift you the dutch rabbit!"

"Both of you were supposed to join me on my co-op," Scarlet snapped. "I'm still waiting on those! If we don't get gold, so help me I'll-"

"People, people, please-" Lazard tried to restore some semblance of order. "Nobody is going to lose out on gold on the co-op. I planted extra the other day for it."

"See, he knows how this 'teamwork' thing works!" Scarlet snapped, and then looked towards Tseng. "What's his excuse?"

"Excuse me?" Tseng blinked, trying to feign interest.

"How many masteries have _you _got?" she continued to file her nails and give him irritated looks.

"Well, I," Tseng paused, wracking his brain for an answer that wouldn't paint him as an incompetent moron in the eyes of the others so well-versed in their positions of power. "Let's just get to the bottom of this so you don't lose out on the co-op shall we? Just tell me what the problem is and I'll get my people on it immediately."

Not that any of his minions had actual jobs to do anyway. They might actually enjoy spending their free time playing games. He could only imagine how this was going to go.

"I'm out of farm cash," President Shinra sobbed. "And its carnival week in the mystery game!"

"Can't you just, buy more?" Tseng asked, puzzled as to why a man who owned the entire company just couldn't add his own farm cash.

"I can't," he said, grabbing Tseng by the shoulders and shaking him. "You can see for yourself, it's become an epidemic, Tseng. If we don't do something, Junon will own us. Help us, Tseng. You're the only one who can!"

"It's just a game," Tseng deadpanned. "You can just stop playing and no harm will be done."

Several horrified looks greeted him at the words.

"It is not just a game! This is like, real-life on the computer," Scarlet snapped.

Tseng gripped the side of the table with a sigh. "What do you want me to do about this then?"

"We need to strike back." President Shinra released his shoulders and walked to the head of the table, pacing back and forth. "Operation **::CENSORED::** needs to happen."

Tseng looked towards his coffee cup, as though it would find some way to save him from such humiliation. Had Shinra just said what he though he had?

"I'm afraid I don't understand. Exactly what do you want me to do?"

"We shall unleash our answer to the social network fad!" President Shinra made his way to the token poster board. With a beaming smile, he drew back the makeshift curtain and immediately the leader of the Turks paled as the horrid word appeared before him.

"You can't be serious," was all Tseng had to say, picturing in the back of his mind the reactions of his unfortunate subordinates.

"I expect updates every hour on the hour. The more **::CENSORED:: **we have going on, the more likely we are to succeed. Twitter's got nothing on Shinra's **::CENSORED::**"

"Sir, that's a bit extreme…"

"Nothing is extreme by today's standards. Now, go forth Tseng and make this happen. The fate of the world relies on this taking off."

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions, **

**Who would have thought that a screen name could cause such a problem…**

**Tune in next time folks. **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	89. Special Operation ShinBook

**Almost to the final ten missions folks! Whoot! Apologies that I haven't been around much lately with updates, but the Muse hasn't been feeling very Muse-like lately and because of that I needed a break from the missions, writing, and fan fiction in general. (I know, you've heard this all before, but when one gets close to 100 professional flames in the writing world—none of them were from you lovely readers and none of them were for fan fiction—it sucks the writing life right out of you and when that happens, the quality of even thinking about writing diminishes greatly.) That said, I'm feeling my Muse itching for some humor, so hopefully, you will enjoy this fun little mock-u-mission. (This will be the **_**only**_** one written in this format. I've always wanted to do one in this style and felt this time it's appropriate to jump start the Muse back into action. I just hope the formatting comes through right. Enjoy.) : ) **

**Special Operation ShinBook**

Tseng had to hand it to himself; they had taken the news a lot better than he thought they would. So far, only two of them had locked themselves in their offices, with minimal grumbling. He was certain that there would have at _least_ been some hair pulling and unprintable cussing by now, especially from Reno. Instead though, only silence.

It worried him.

"Think of the paycheck. Do it for the paycheck," he whispered as he sat down at his desk, laptop open in front of him. For a moment, he paused, looking at the black screen and wondering just what he had done to deserve such a fate. He froze, scanning the keyboard. Lazard's words had left even less to be desired as he had explained just what they all needed to do to save the idiotcracy, aka 'company' from total destruction.

Tseng sighed and pressed the 'on' switch, watching the machine roar to life. How did his minions do this every day? No wonder they were all insane. He scanned over the instructions given to him and quickly located the small icon in the shape of what appeared to be a kneecap and doubled clicked it.

**Welcome to ShinBook Global Chat Room**

**Members Present: 1**

_**Pencil Pusher, BaldAndBeautiful, have entered the chat room.**_

**BonsaiMaster****: Good morning, Reeve, Rude**

**Pencil Pusher****: See, you didn't need our help after all. **

**BaldAndBeautiful****: …**

**BonsaiMaster****: Can we just get to the point and get this over with? The screen is blinking at me. **

**Pencil Pusher****: That's your video chat.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Video what?**

**Pencil Pusher****: Video chat. You can chat face to face with us.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Now why would I want to do that? **

_**Can'tKeepASecret, Shuriken have entered the chat room. **_

**Pencil Pusher****: Because you would be able to have the company of all of us without leaving your office.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Don't I already have that feature without the need of a computer?**

**Shuriken****: Did we miss something? **

**BonsaiMaster****: No, not at all. Good morning, Elena, Cissnei**

**Pencil Pusher****: Tseng can't figure out how to work his laptop.**

**Shuriken****: (sigh) I left him a step by step list of instructions. **

**Pencil Pusher****: It wasn't detailed enough. **

**Can'tKeepASecret****: Are all Turks this technologically inept? **

**Shuriken****: Only the men. **

**BonsaiMaster****: Now that's not true. I know perfectly well how to use the computer. I just prefer talking to my minions face to face.**

**Shuriken****: That's what the video chat is for. **

**BonsaiMaster****: I know that! I'm not a complete technophobe.**

**Shuriken****: What about the copier? **

**BonsaiMaster****: We don't speak of that. **

**Shuriken****: My point exactly. **

**Can'tKeepASecret****: (shudders) **

**BaldAndBeautiful****: …**

_**IAmNotAVampire has entered the chat room.**_

_**IAmNotAVampire has left the chat room.**_

**BonsaiMaster****: I take it you gave Vincent similar instructions?**

_**IAmNotAVampire has entered the chat room.**_

_**IAmNotAVampire has left the chat room.**_

**Shuriken****: I gave him flashcards…**

**BonsaiMaster****: Flash Cards? **

**Shuriken****: You know, those little cards with the pictures—**

**BonsaiMaster****: I know what flash cards are, Cissnei. **

**Pencil Pusher****: Speaking of flash cards, where's Reno. **

**BonsaiMaster****: I don't know, nor do I care. **

**Pencil Pusher****: We should probably be worried. What's his SN?**

**BonsaiMaster****: SN? **

**Shuriken****: Screen name**

**BonsaiMaster****: I knew that. Cissnei, what's his screen name?**

**Shuriken****: Why do you always assume Reno is my responsibility? **

**BonsaiMaster****: Because I say so. That's why. **

**Pencil Pusher****: He's probably something censored or something rude. No offense Rude.**

**BaldAndBeautiful****: ….**

**Shuriken****: Now look what you did. You hurt his feelings. **

**BaldAndBeautiful****: …..**

_**IAmNotAVampire has entered the chat room.**_

_**IAmNotAVampire has left the chat room.**_

**BonsaiMaster****: Would someone please go check on Vincent?**

**Pencil Pusher****: Can't. Have stuff to file.**

**BonsaiMaster****: What could you possibly have to file? I can see you from here! Your desk is empty.**

**Pencil Pusher****: I'm organizing my desktop.**

**BonsaiMaster****: You're moving the can of pencils from one side of the desk to the other…**

**Pencil Pusher****: My computer desktop. Good Gaia, man, get with the program! You're embarrassing yourself.**

**BonsaiMaster****: If you were a Turk, I'd give you the most demeaning job available for that comment. **

**Shuriken****: You mean my job?**

**BonsaiMaster****: You be quiet.**

**Shuriken****: Just saying…**

**BonsaiMaster****: Go check on Vincent. Now.**

**Shuriken****: Fine, I'm going. **

_**Shuriken has left the chat room.**_

**Pencil Pusher****: Ouch. I'd watch your back with that one, Tseng. She controls the copier. **

**BonsaiMaster****: I never said you were in the clear, Reeve. Things tend to go** '**missing' around us…**

**Pencil Pusher****: You already had me declared dead by a Pringles can…**

**BonsaiMaster****: Keep pushing your luck.**

**Pencil Pusher****: In case you haven't noticed, I'm incredibly lucky. So, Tseng, how are we supposed to deal with ::CENSORED::? Isn't that the reason why we're here?**

**BonsaiMaster****: They censored the internet too? **

**Pencil Pusher****: This is a surprise to you?**

**BonsaiMaster****: As a matter of fact, it is. I would think that it wouldn't be on the company chat room of all places.**

_**Cufflinks has entered the chat room. **_

**Bonsai Master****: ::Sigh:: **

**Cufflinks****: Oh goody. You figured out how to get online after all! **

**BonsaiMaster****: Good morning, Lazard. **

**Cufflinks****: You should do this more often, Tseng! Think of the possibilities this presents for us! No longer shall there be such distance between our departments! **

**BonsaiMaster****: Distance, right…**

**Cufflinks****: Try not to sound so negative. I bring good news! **

**BonsaiMaster****: Get to it, please. **

**Cufflinks****: It's about ::CENSORED:: Rumor has it that it is simple to use. All you have to do is reveal all of your deepest, innermost thoughts to your loyal followers! **

**Pencil Pusher****: That sounds horrible.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Do continue… (glaring at a certain engineer) **

**Pencil Pusher****: : ( **

**BonsaiMaster****: That doesn't even make sense, Reeve. **

**Pencil Pusher****: It's a frowning face! Gaia, man, did you even look at the list of icons Cissnei left for you?**

**BonsaiMaster****: What are you thoughts on this, Rude (ignoring a certain engineer)**

**BaldAndBeautiful****: …**

**BonsaiMaster****: Rude's right. We won't do it. **

**Can'tKeepASecret****: Isn't ::CENSORED:: just a rip off of Twitter anyway? **

**BonsaiMaster****: You're still here?**

**Can'tKeepASecret****: Unfortunately.**

**Cufflinks****: No no no. ::CENSORED:: Is better than Twitter! My SOLDIERs love it! **

**BonsaiMaster****: My Turks are not your SOLDIERs. **

**Cufflinks****: You make it sound like they're as technologically inept as you are. I'm sure they'd love chatting about their personal lives! **

**BonsaiMaster****: They can't. **

**Cufflinks****: Sure they could! Spelling isn't mandatory. It's so simple, even that Reno fellow could do it.**

**BonsaiMaster****: That's what scares me**

_**Shuriken, Puppy, have entered the chat room.**_

**Cufflinks****: Oh come on, Tseng. Let them have a little bit of fun. No need to get your knickers in a knot. ::CENSORED:: is where it's at now. They'll love it. All they have to do is-**

_**Cufflinks has been ejected from the chat room **_

**BonsaiMaster****: I don't know who did that, but praise be to Gaia.**

**Shuriken****: I did. That guy gives me the creeps.**

**Puppy****: Wow. This is neato cool! I can see all of you on my computer screen!**

_**Puppy has been ejected from the chat room. **_

**BonsaiMaster****: How did you do that?**

**Shuriken****: Just pressed the little foot shaped icon at the top of the screen. Simple, really. **

**BonsaiMaster****: I'll have to keep that in mind. (Still glaring at a certain engineer) **

**Pencil Pusher****: Oh grow up, Tseng. Just because you don't know how to work the internet doesn't mean you have to get all revengy on me.**

**BonsaiMaster****: That's not even a word!**

**Pencil Pusher****: Your point?**

**BonsaiMaster****: That's it.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Why won't it let me kick him out?**

**Shuriken****: Because you're not the master screen name.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Master what? **

**Shuriken****: Master screen name. You know, the person supposedly in charge of this whole waste of time mission. **

**BonsaiMaster****: And why am I not the master screen name?**

**Shuriken****: Because you assigned that mission to me.**

**BonsaiMaster****: (frustrated) Young lady, go to your room, lair, whatever you call that place, right now. We'll talk about this behavior later.**

**Shuriken****: Fine, **_**dad**_**. I know where I'm not wanted. **

**BonsaiMaster****: Don't you get smart with me-**

_**Shuriken has left the chat room**_

**Pencil Pusher****: Way to go, Tseng. As I recall you have a stack of invoices that need copied. **

**BonsaiMaster****: (Sigh) Why are my minions so childish online? **

**Pencil Pusher****: They only do what their leader does…**

**Can'tKeepASecret****: Maybe if you just said you were sorry…**

**BonsaiMaster****: Apologize? For what? Trying to run my department? **

**Can'tKeepASecret****: For being mean.**

**BonsaiMaster****: I'm supposed to be mean! I'm the leader of the Turks! I'm not supposed to be nice! Especially not towards Turks who should know better!**

**Pencil Pusher****: Ladies, please. We have more pressing issues to attend to at the moment.**

_**SilverGeneral, LOVELESS, BusterSword have entered the chat room**_

**BonsaiMaster****: Dear Gaia, help me. **

**BusterSword****: Alright, who ejected our leader and the puppy?**

**BonsaiMaster****: Angeal, how nice to see you?**

**BusterSword****: Cut to the chase, Tseng. Who did it?**

**BonsaiMaster****: One of my minions.**

**BusterSword****: You mean **_**you're**_** not the master screen name? **

**SilverGeneral****: That's just sad. **

**LOVELESS****: 'Tis a sad fate to lack control of your own department. **

**BonsaiMaster****: Look, I didn't mean for him to be kicked out. I'm sorry. **

**Pencil Pusher****: You'll apologize to the apple dumpling gang, but not to your own minions. O_o**

**BusterSword****: Ouch**

**LOVELESS****: That's very rude for a piddly NPC. **

**SilverGeneral****: I suggest we humiliate him, SOLDIER style.**

**BusterSword****: Agreed. **

**LOVELESS****: Agreed.**

_**SilverGeneral, BusterSword, LOVELESS have left the chat room.**_

**BonsaiMaster****: Have fun, Reeve**

**Pencil Pusher****: O_O **

_**Pencil Pusher has left the chat room**_

_**Cufflinks has entered the chat room. **_

**BonsaiMaster****: You're back?**

**Cufflinks****: Indeed! You don't realize how long it takes for the ban to wear off. Oh dear, where have my SOLDIERs gone? They seem to have run off. **

**BonsaiMaster****: They're a little preoccupied. **

_**Shuriken has entered the chat room.**_

**Shuriken****: Why are there three SOLDIERs carrying tiki torches and what appears to be a large bag of glitter and chocobo feathers outside of Reeve's office?**

**BonsaiMaster****: They have their reasons.**

**Shuriken****: Shouldn't we help him? **

**BonsaiMaster****: No, Reeve can handle himself. **

**Shuriken****: It sounds like he's crying.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Just ignore him. He'll be fine.**

**Shuriken****: Are you sure? It sounds like he's barricading himself in his office.**

_** RSinclair has entered the chat room.**_

**BonsaiMaster****: Stay out of it, or I'll tell everyone about you and Vincent.**

**Shuriken****: You wouldn't dare.**

**Cufflinks****: Oooooo I **_**love**_** a good scandal.**

**Shuriken****: It's not what you think! **

**BonsaiMaster****: Do we have a deal?**

**Shuriken****: (grudgingly) Yes, we have a deal**

**RSinclair****: What's this about 'Nei and Vincent, yo?**

**Shuriken****: …**

**Can'tKeepASecret****: …Reno?**

**BaldAndBeautiful****: …**

**RSinclair****: Yo, what's up?**

**BonsaiMaster****: …**

**RSinclair****: What?**

**BonsaiMaster****: Your screen name…**

**RSinclair****: What about it yo? **

**BonsaiMaster****: It's…**

**Can'tKeepASecret****: Surprisingly clean. **

**RSinclair****: Of course it is! This is the internet, yo. Can't be too careful about stuff like that! You never know who's watching.**

**Shuriken****: Since when do you care about stuff like that?**

**RSinclair****: Since when are you hanging out with Vincent?**

**Shuriken****: We're not hanging out! **

**BonsaiMaster****: It's worse than that. **

**Cufflinks****: Do tell us about this ahem, relationship. I have 120 characters just waiting for the juicy details.**

**Shuriken****: Can we please just get to the original purpose of this meeting instead of picking at my personal life?**

**RSinclair****: So you do have something to hide. I knew it! Must. Investigate. Further**

**Shuriken****: It's nothing you'd be interested in, Reno. **

**RSinclair****: So there **_**is**_** something. Come on, Tseng. Tell us the details. What blackmail material do you have on her? (eagerly listening) **

_**RSinclair **__**has been ejected from the chat room. **_

**Cufflinks****: And just when it was getting good too. What a pity.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Now that I have you all here…**

**Shuriken****: Shouldn't we do something about Reeve? It sounds like they're really going to hurt him…**

**BonsaiMaster****: He's fine. Trust me.**

**Cufflinks****: Oh, they're just having some fun. I'm sure he'll be fine. NPCs are tougher than they look. **

**Shuriken****: He's pleading for mercy. Something about pink fuzzy handcuffs and glitter and cupcakes…**

**BonsaiMaster****: Just shut your door.**

**Shuriken****: …**

**BaldAndBeautiful****: …**

**Can'tKeepASecret****: Soooo, what was the urgent matter you needed us for again?**

**Shuriken****: You're still here?**

**Can'tKeepASecret****: I'm a Turk too you know. **

**Shuriken****: Keep telling yourself that…**

**BonsaiMaster****: Cissnei, be nice. **

**Shuriken****: Fine. **

**BonsaiMaster****: Good. Now, Lazard, I do believe you found a way around this censorship thing?**

**Cufflinks****: Oh, right. It's called ::CENSORED:: All you have to do is give two updates a day and this all goes away.**

**BonsaiMaster****: So let me get this straight. We sacrifice even more of our already precious dignity and we'll be able to say certain words again?**

_**RSinclair **__**has entered the chat room**_

**Cufflinks****: That and you need to hold a bake sale.**

**BonsaiMaster****: (pales) A bake sale?**

**Cufflinks****: Yes, a bake sale.**

**RSinclair****: No offense, Lazard, but that's like asking for total destruction yo.**

**Cufflinks****: Oh come now. It's not too bad. Surely cupcakes and cookies aren't too difficult. **

**RSinclair****: We have a Turk who can't even bake prebaked cookies…**

**Shuriken****: (Glares at Reno) **

**Cufflinks****: But cooking is fun! **

**Can'tKeepASecret****: (shudders) Sir, no disrespect meant, but some of us should never cook, period. **

**Cufflinks****: It can't be that bad. **

**RSinclair****: (grins) Stop by sometime, we'll be glad to demonstrate. Right 'Nei?**

**Shuriken****: Shut up, Reno. **

**BonsaiMaster****: Children, please. **

**Shuriken****: It's true though. Bake sales are just too risky, for **_**everyone**_**. **

**Cufflinks****: I'll walk you all through the whole thing! It will be fun for all! Promise! **

**BonsaiMaster****: Are you **_**guaranteeing**_** that we will get our rights back?**

**Cufflinks****: Would I lie to you? **

**BonsaiMaster****: Yes, you would.**

**Cufflinks****: Just trust me on this, Tseng. This can benefit both of our departments. **

**BaldAndBeautiful****: ….. **

**RSinclair****: Rude's right, yo. This is a ::CENSORED:: bad idea.**

**RSinclair****: That's a bad word? Aw come on now? **

**BonsaiMaster****: Abuse of the exclamation point, Reno.**

**RSinclair****: It's the internet, yo. You're allowed to do things like that. Lighten up, yo.**

**BonsaiMaster****: …..**

**Cufflinks****: Just trust me. **

**BonsaiMaster****: Famous last words. **

**Cufflinks****: Where's your sense of adventure, Tseng!**

**BonsaiMaster****: Wherever our fragile dignity is hiding. **

**Cufflinks****: Aww, it'll be okay. Look, my SOLDIERs and I will help you host a successful bake sale. It's a win-win situation. You've nothing to worry about. Trust me. It will be a bake sale to remember! **

**BonsaiMaster****: That's what scares me…**

**Cufflinks****: You Turks are all a bunch of negative ninnies. **

**RSinclair****: Yep, that's us in a nutshell. **

**Shuriken****: I'll second that. **

**BaldAndBeautiful****: ….**

**Can'tKeepASecret****: Indeed. **

**Cufflinks****: It's called positive thinking people!**

**BonsaiMaster****: Just arrange the bake sale, Lazard. I'll make sure our insurance covers it.**

**Cufflinks****: (hands together in glee) Oh goody! I'll get them on it right now! I'll be in touch, Tseng. **

_**Cufflinks has left the chat room. **_

**RSinclair****: Well, boss, you've officially taken the betting pool to a new level. Way to go yo. Who wants in?**

**BaldAndBeautiful****: …**

**Shuriken****: I agree with Rude. **

**Can'tKeepASecret****: Sure, why not. **

**BonsaiMaster****: Is there anything you all **_**don't**_** bet on?**

**RSinclair****: We have to make a living somehow yo.**

**BonsaiMaster****: Fine, just, try to stay out of trouble**

_**BonsaiMaster has left the chat room. **_

Tseng sighed and closed his laptop. That had gone a lot better than he thought. Reaching for his cup of coffee, he leaned back in his chair and listened as Reeve's terrified whimpering echoed from the office down the hall.

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Thinking Spring, Shinra style.**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	90. Mission 90 Operation Calorie Counter

**Wow, simply wow. I honestly did not mean to make you all wait this long for an update to the fic. Seriously, I have a **_**really**_** good excuse. It's called spending time in Writer's Hades working on an intensively brutal 77 page outline that seriously tested every aspect of my writing skills for a slim chance at impressing some **_**very**_** big literary dogs. Verdict won't be in for a few weeks yet on whether or not my best is good enough, but wish the Muse luck as she'll need every bit of that. The good news is that I finally got time to work on the fics. The bad news, I think I'm going to make some of you wonderful fans hungry with this one. Hopefully this mission is amusing at least. (Going from one writing world to the fan fiction one is quite the jump, so I'm more than a bit rusty and apologize in advance.) That said, I promise not to make you wait like that again for an update. Without further ado, I welcome you all officially to the final ten missions! **

**Mission Ninety - Operation Calorie Counter**

It was truly the food of the gods. Three pounds of fluffy, delectable buttery goodness marinated in just the right amount of sugar and spices; blended with a delicate combination of flour, golden chocobo eggs, and the finest dumbapples Banora had to offer. Imprisoned within a solid gold ramekin that caught the light just right, it was both elegant and arrogant to behold at the same time, standing heads above any other pathetic desserts that may dare to challenge its authority.

It was Tseng's worst nightmare manifested in artery clogging reality. He continued to trade glares with the offending dessert as he listened to Genesis explain the delicate procedures that went into crafting such a magnificent wonder of the world. He'd always heard rumors of such a mission. It was the _only_ mission that made Commander Veld lock himself in his office, curl up into a fetal position by the bookcase, and cry for twelve hours straight. The man never recovered from that and immediately handed the reins to Tseng a short time after. He'd never asked exactly _what_ drove the former leader of the Turks to that point, but as he stared at the satanic dessert, he had this awful feeling that he was about to find out.

"And above all, Do. Not. Let. It. Fall." Genesis punctuated each syllable with a harsh whisper, not looking up from his gilded and worn copy of LOVELESS. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

Genesis silenced him with a look before he could say one more word and merely pointed to the soufflé dangerously close by. "Loud noises could startle it."

Tseng backed away slowly, unwilling to admit that he was intimidated by a dessert. Keeping his eyes on the enemy, he made his way out of the room and into the hallway where his minions stood awaiting their fate.

"So," Reno leaned against the wall. "Is this going to be the regular kind of fail or the special scrapbook worthy epic kind?"

Tseng blinked and looked at the redhead. "What makes you think you're going to fail?"

"You have that 'just saw Palmer in a leotard' look about you," Reno smirked and looked over to Cissnei. "You may wanna increase your bet yo. We're talking 'legendary' fail territory here."

"Been a while since we had one of those." She jotted something down on her clipboard.

"Oh come on." Tseng's brow furrowed. "It won't be _that_ bad. Honestly you're all acting like infantrymen."

"Nah, their betting system isn't half as elaborate as ours is." Reno looked to Rude and Elena. "Either of you want to increase your bets on this while the pool's still at 'Enough to buy a round of drinks after paying the rent' level?"

"Is it projected to reach 'Dinner and a Movie' level in the near future?" Rude asked.

"Dinner, movie, _and_ new sunglasses."

"My kind of bet," Rude nodded and whispered something to Cissnei, who smiled and wrote it down on the clipboard.

Reno looked over at the blonde. "How about you, rookie?"

Elena just blinked and continued to pretend that she understood the proper protocol for calculating their odds of failure. "Um, well…"

"Just say yes, yo."

She nodded in response. Reno smirked and looked back at Tseng. "Alright, boss. Now that the numbers are officially entered, how can we best fail you today?"

Tseng sighed and once again glanced at the door he'd just walked through. "It's in there. Wait, where's Vincent?"

"He's having a 'moment,'" Cissnei replied. "And no, I'm not going to his lair to drag him out here kicking and screaming again."

"Yeah, boss. Let him find his own missions to fail yo."

"You're supposed to be a _team_…"

"We _are_ a team," Reno corrected matter-of-factly. "We're just a better team when we're sacrificing Elena's dignity instead of Vincent's."

The blonde Turk glared.

"Forget I even said anything." Tseng pointed to the open doorway. "In there is quite possibly the most difficult mission any of you have ever faced. Succeed, and you will become legends. Fail, and you will be granted permanent residence on the wall of shame."

"Oh no, not the _wall_," Reno whined sarcastically. "Hate to break it to you, boss, but we already staked a nice large claim on that months ago."

"Just get in there!" Tseng grumbled. "And for the love of Holy, be quiet."

"Can't we just silence him?" Cissnei asked.

"Don't you start."

"Was just saying…"

His four minions grudgingly trudged past their fearless leader. They got less than three feet beyond the door before the sight of just what Genesis was guarding stopped them in their tracks.

Reno couldn't help but smirk, struggling to contain an outburst of laughter. Rude adjusted his shades as though focusing on the offending item. Elena blinked as though finding it to be not that big of a deal.

Cissnei glared at Tseng. "That's just not fair, sir. You never said it was an impossible mission."

"It's not impossible," he said.

The female Turk looked towards the others and back to Tseng. "Sir, no disrespect meant, but you honestly think that we are really, honest to Gaia going to be able to contend with that? Have you lost your mind?"

"I wouldn't give the mission to you four if I didn't have the utmost confidence that it could be done."

"She's right, yo," Reno said. "That just screams sad and pathetic, even by our standards."

"You want the right to say **::CENSORED::** again?"

"I ain't saying I don't, but really, boss, a cupcake?"

"That is _not_ a cupcake," Cissnei corrected. "It's the most evil dessert known to mankind, the soufflé."

"You know what a soufflé is, but sugar cookies puzzle you to no end. Totally going to blackmail you with that yo."

"Shut up and let me concentrate here." She held up the Libra materia and took aim at the delicate target. "Super SOLDIER Soufflé, 24,213 calories, 2500 grams of sugar. Trans fat, infinite. Ingredients: cinnamon, sugar, golden chocobo eggs, dumbapples, chocolate and milk. Weak against: air, water, noise, cold, heat, stares, any and all movement, the slightest touch, Palmer, its own shadow, and owls. Strong against: Diets. Contains 1 half of a HP that automatically reduces every half hour."

"That is one messed up dessert yo. A half HP, _really_?"

"The Libra doesn't lie, Reno."

There was silence amongst the Turks at the grim news.

"Did you just scan my soufflé?" Genesis glared over the top of his book. "The nerve!"

"Oh can it Drama Prince," Reno said. "It's not like you're the one who has to-" he looked at Tseng, "What exactly _are_ we doing with it anyway?"

"How dare you call me that! I am a highly educated scholar of the LOVELESS arts!"

Tseng attempted to ignore the irate SOLDIER First Class. "We're moving it from the cafeteria to the fountain for the company bake sale."

A blank stare was his response. "You're kidding, right? That's like one hundred yards yo."

"If you're careful, you should be fine."

"But still, yo, we have trouble navigating five feet. A hundred yards is like a whole mile in Turk length."

Tseng sighed and pointed to the soufflé. "You move the soufflé, and you get out of tea with Lazard and the boys."

"Oh that's low." Reno looked to his companions and attempted to roll up his sleeves. "You heard the man. We have a dessert to defend."

"I knew you'd see it my way." Tseng looked towards Genesis, who looked ready to throw his book at them and then cast a rather mean Firaga spell. "Best of luck."

They watched as their leader cautiously approached the irate SOLDIER and casually whispered something about LOVELESS.

"No, no, no. You can't possibly interpret it like that!" Genesis flipped through his book wildly and shoved it towards Tseng. "See, right here. Act 3 Scene 2. You poor misguided man. It's not a love scene, but a scene of intense passion!"

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, but surely you could spare some time to explain it to me?" Tseng began walking with the man and motioned to his Turks to hurry and get their mission started already. For a brief moment, his underlings actually had some respect for him. When he was gone though, that respect was quickly pushed aside as they studied the dessert.

"So, how exactly do we move it if we can't touch it?" Elena asked.

Reno draped an arm across her shoulder with a sly smirk. "Just watch and learn, young rookie. You're about to see something amazing."

Both Cissnei and Rude exchanged looks, silently debating on whether or not to step away or hear the redhead out.

Reno pointed to the soufflé matter-of-factly. "I'm going to need to borrow your PHS, 'Nei."

"Don't you have one of your own?"

"Come on. I have a really cool idea here. Work with me a little bit."

"Fine," she tossed him the PHS.

Reno smirked and dialed a number.

**The office of Reeve Tuesti, 2:36 PM**

Reeve was actually having a better than average day. He'd alphabetized more than half of his files, the blueprints were on a nice little shelf in chronological order, he hadn't been K/O'd by random office supplies yet, the printer had a full cartridge of ink, and he'd managed to harvest his blueberries before they could wither. It was a good day indeed.

And then the phone rang.

For a moment, he considered ignoring it altogether. But Reeve was too nice for his own good sometimes and before he could prevent himself from doing it, he found himself on the phone with one Reno Sinclair.

"_Yo, Reeve, we need your help." _

Reeve leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "You're not in prison again, are you?"

"_No, this is one hundred times better than that. You like puzzles right?" _

The engineer stared at the Rubix cube sitting on his bookshelf. He wasn't about to tell anyone that he'd gotten so flustered by it that he'd simply taken all of the stickers off of it and put them back on the right way to make it look like he'd actually solved it.

"Sure, why do you ask?"

"_Because we have one that only an engineer can solve." _

At this, Reeve swore under his breath. They'd probably managed to put President Shinra's car up a flagpole or lured Palmer into the subway system again.

"What'd you do now?"

"_Why does everyone always assume we already did it?" _

"Because you usually do! Now get to the point," he toyed with a paperclip and the tower he was building with it. "I'm a very busy man."

"_We have an item here that we can't touch, but need to move exactly 100 yards." _

Reeve dropped the phone in horror. Anything but _that_ mission. It wasn't possible. It wasn't fair!

"_Reeve? Ah, hell, I think something K/O'd him again…" _

"I'm not dead you twit," he managed after several long seconds. "Look, don't touch anything. Don't make eye contact with it. Don't even move. I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone and looked at his engineering degree hanging on the office wall. "I never thought this day would come around again…"

**Shinra Cafeteria, 2:45 PM **

"We meet again…" It was like a reunion between old enemies. Reeve stopped in his tracks, glaring at the soufflé perched upon a small table. To the four Turks watching him, he must have looked like he'd lost his mind, but he knew better. This time, things would be different. This time they would not fail.

He looked towards Rude and Elena first.

"You two, secure the hallway leading to the lobby and clear us a path to the square. Your biggest threat is Palmer. Do what you must to keep him contained."

Both Rude and Elena exchanged looks. Since when did Reeve give orders? Both shrugged and made their way past him. It wasn't like it could be that hard after all.

Reeve looked towards Reno and Cissnei. "Okay, now that that's taken care of, we're going to need a Float spell and some hand eye coordination."

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, Reeve, but we can't exactly touch it," Reno said and looked once again at the dessert.

Reeve sighed. "We're not going to touch the soufflé. We're going to cast Float on the table and simply push it from point A to point B."

"Sounds simple enough," Cissnei retrieved the materia in question that was required from her pocket.

"Do you actually carry anything that doesn't cause status effects?" Reno yawned.

"Want me to silence you while I'm at it?"

"Children, please," Reeve scowled. "The table, please?"

"Fine," Cissnei turned her attention on the small table and delicately cast a simple float spell on it.

Reeve held his breath as the table evenly lifted off of the group several inches, the soufflé neither moving, nor shifting in response. He tiptoed behind it and gingerly touched the surface of the table, nudging it forward. Again, the soufflé remained in place. He looked to the two red-haired Turks.

"Okay, you two walk alongside it, just in case it shifts off balance. Let's do this."

**Exhibit Room, 2:47 PM**

It was the rumor that caught his attention. Several infantrymen were whispering about a glorious dessert having been created in the cafeteria of all places by a SOLDIER First Class. The more he listened to the chatter going on by the motorcycle, the more he was convinced that it was more than just a delicious rumor.

There was no dessert Palmer hadn't experienced and this one was not going to be the one that got away. He rubbed his hands together in glee. Oh yes, he could see himself now, devouring such a marvel and savoring every bite. He might even slather some lard on it for good measure, if anything to keep his nosy comrades from stealing away his prize.

He began making his way out of the Exhibit Room towards the cafeteria. Suddenly, he found himself tethered in place by a thick cord of rope. He looked around, puzzled, finding two very adamant Turks preventing him from moving.

"Well that was easy enough," Elena said, watching the confused Palmer staring stupidly at the two of them.

Rude nodded and secured the rope to a support pillar.

**Corridor between lobby and cafeteria, 2:50 PM**

Things were going well. So far, Reeve had only watched three curious infantrymen K/O'd, one by complete accident as the unfortunately soldier turned the corner too fast and ran into a doorframe. The other two had been swiftly dealt with by the two redheads currently questioning their career choice and just how humiliating this particular mission was of their intelligence.

Reeve smiled to himself and navigated the corridor. He could see the doorway across the lobby now. Just fifty short yards to go and they'd only have to handle the stairs and they'd be home free.

His heel suddenly buckled under him as it caught the remnants of a discarded ketchup wrapper. Before Reeve could cry out in surprise, he tumbled backwards. His knee struck the floating table, sending it careening past the two startled Turks, who both made valiant attempts to grab it as it sped by, failing.

"Stop that table!" Reeve struggled to get to his feet as he watched the table gain speed and sweep through the corridor. Both Cissnei and Reno bolted after it.

"Stop!" the female Turk shouted at the table.

"Yelling 'stop' at it won't help, 'Nei!"

"I'm not yelling at it!" she growled. "I'm trying to stop it!"

Reno couldn't help but snicker at the gesture, until he saw the small orb of materia in her hand. "Oh, you mean _Stop_!"

"You really are an idiot, aren't you?"

By now they were getting strange looks as they ran past. The female Turk aimed another spell at it. An infantryman froze in place. She swore under her breath.

"Where'd all these infantrymen come from anyway!"

"Plot devices," Reno stated. "Law of fan fiction states that they'll show up whenever there is a crisis just because they can."

"I'm actually here on my own free will…" a familiar blonde-haired infantryman stated before he was quickly hit with a Stop spell.

At the mention of being demoted to plot devices, infantrymen began shouting and diving for cover in frantic attempt to escape from the path of the cart. There was a wild shout from the Exhibition Room as Palmer darted to the doorway, dragging half of a wall with him and bellowing something about claiming the dessert for his own.

Rude and Elena struggled to rein him in as he dragged them across the chaotic lobby in pursuit of the out of control dessert. A secretary screamed.

"My creation!" Genesis shouted and threw his copy of LOVELESS aside. Tseng covered his eyes, unable to watch the disaster in progress. For a brief moment, he'd caught sight of Reeve, who was in an equal state of horror.

The table swept through the lobby and towards the automatic doors, several Turks and Palmer in hot pursuit.

"Mine!" Palmer lunged, attempting to clamber past Reno and Cissnei to reach the table. Both Turks tumbled to the ground in a wild scramble. Rude and Elena quickly joined them as the group struggled to untangle itself from Palmer.

"Stop!" Cissnei managed to shout, sending the spell through the chaos and striking the table. Reno watched in amazement as the table and runaway soufflé came to an abrupt halt, directly at the edge of the first step to the square.

"Mega sweet, yo." Reno made an attempt to claw his way out of the pile.

A vicious screech filled the air. They watched in captivated horror as a large pair of talons descended upon the defenseless dessert, sweeping it from the table, and carrying it away from the square, never to be seen again.

"I totally didn't know we had owls, yo."

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**Where is Rude sneaking off to after hours? And why is there a teapot on Tseng's desk? **

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill : ) **


	91. Mission 91 Operation Road Rage

**First of all, there is no good excuse as to why this update is more than overdue. Well, there is actually, but I decided to take a mini break from that project to finally get you folks an update. (Fans of the other fic, your update is coming sometime before the new year.) I felt it was time for Rude to get a mission of his own for once and couldn't think of a better time to do it than now. Mind ya'll, it's a short-ish type of mission and in my opinion, isn't the muse at her finest. I will make it up to ya'll in the new year, promise. The Muse hereby dedicates this chapter to everyone and anyone who has ever been in this situation before. Hopefully, you'll find it amusing. Without further ado, I would like to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Kwanza, Happy Solstice and if you don't celebrate any holiday, a very wonderful day. ^_^ See ya'll in the new year!**

**Mission Ninety One – Operation Road Rage**

Rude considered himself to be a rather honest man. He showed up for work on time. Did his share of the paperwork without complaining. Suffered through the antics of Reno and the others. Sacrificed most of his dignity on a regular basis. And never called off work sick, maimed, or terminally ill with the Gongagan plague.

Almost never anyway.

As he hung up his PHS and examined the mixing bowl in his hands, he couldn't help but feel a little smug at the slightly rebellious thing he had just done. Tseng had been fairly understanding given the circumstances. It wasn't like Reno, Cissnei, and Elena couldn't handle the company Christmas Party without him or anything.

After all, it was billed as four fun-filled hours of Palmer grazing at the snack table, Hojo stalking Vincent with a lasso made of tinsel, Heidegger and Scarlet jingling everything except bells, the President's yearly transfixion by the shiny wrapping paper, SOLDIERs sporting the latest holiday fashions, Reeve engineering some sort of shield out of Christmas ornaments, and Rufus's irrational fear of nutcrackers.

He smiled and gave the mixture in the bowl another stir with the wooden spoon. Yes, they'd be fine without him this year. Didn't he deserve a night off every once in a while? It was Christmas after all.

He quickly switched the PHS off, tucked it into his pocket and reached for the milk carton on the counter. He couldn't afford to be interrupted during such a delicate operation anyway. His fingers closed around the carton, drawing it closer to him.

A frown crossed his face. He gave the carton a small shake. Empty. The frown quickly morphed into a scowl. This wasn't good. How was he supposed to make his famous fruit-astic fifteen fruit fruitcake without milk? Setting the mixing bowl down, he quickly began rummaging through the refrigerator.

Grim reality quickly set in. No milk, meant no fruitcake. And not making the traditional fruitcake was only second to dividing by zero. He did not want to be the one responsible for the end of the world just because he ran out of milk on Christmas Eve.

So Rude did the only sensible thing he could think of, adjusted his sunglasses and stared the empty milk carton down. He could do this. He was a Turk. The thought didn't exactly inspire confidence.

No, he assured himself. He could and he would do this. Grabbing his car keys from the little hook by the door, he set off on the most important mission of his life.

**Two hours later…**

It was as though someone had taken the entire Sector Five Beltway and decided to park it directly in the middle of Sector Two.

Rude swore under his breath and turned the wheel of his black sedan to the left, once again passing the local Grub-n-Go's front. How was it possible that _every_ parking space in the lot was occupied?

He growled under his breath and studied each parking space, looking for any weakness he could use to his advantage. Nothing should be this difficult, he reasoned. After all, he had one of the most difficult jobs in existence and it wasn't even a fraction as hard as this was proving to be.

Turk karma. The words surfaced in his mind. It was because he'd called off, wasn't it? He closed his eyes and drew a deep, calming breath. That was only a myth, he assured himself. Nothing to be paranoid about anyway. There had to be at least one parking spot in the lot he could slip into. The universe depended on it.

The dull flash of backing lights glimmered from the very end of the lot by a shady Christmas tree vendor. Rude blinked. Could it be possible? Yes! A spot was about to open up. The revving of an engine made him pause, foot hovering over the gas. He looked to his left, a small station wagon having pulled up beside him. Lightning bolts were painted across its side.

A pair of beady little eyes peered over a small pair of glasses. Short, curly white hair caught the parking lot lights, illuminating her wrinkled face. Rude adjusted his shades. A walker with flames shooting from its sides hung from the mirror. The little old lady nodded once, seeming staring into his very soul.

The bald man once again looked to the end of the lot and back to her. She revved the engine once more, lip curling into an experienced smirk. For a moment, he found himself wishing he had the Libra. Was she…challenging him? Another rev of the engine was his answer. Horrified, the bald Turk looked to the opening space again.

Rubber squealed as her foot hit the gas and the station wagon roared towards it. Rude fumbled in an attempt to hit the gas, catching sight of a bumper sticker that read "The Galloping Granny" plastered across the back bumper. The sedan leapt after the station wagon with a whining, less than manly squeak.

Rude's eyes narrowed. He wasn't about to lose to a little old lady. That space was going to be _his_. He slammed his foot down on the gas, drawing closer to the station wagon. She didn't even bat an eyelash and swung her cane out through the window, hooking a shopping cart.

He watched in horror as the cart gave a rattling cackle and veered into his path. The bald Turk slammed on the brake. A loud screech filled the parking lot, followed by a loud shout. The shopping cart gave a valiant, warrior-like whistle as it seemingly bounded across the hood of the sedan, directly crashing into a perfect line of caroling cart jockeys.

There was no time to worry about it now. Rude pushed the accelerator to the floor. The station wagon continued to creep closer. He was gaining on her. His eyes watched the end of the parking lot, the little white pickup truck slowly inching free of its prison.

"Come on," he willed his unfortunate vehicle faster.

A loud crunch made the vehicle hesitate. Rude gripped the wheel tighter and resisted the urge to flip the little old lady the finger. He could see her cackling in her rearview mirror as she spun the wheel, again catching the side of his vehicle. Another crunch, the door denting inward slightly.

He winced at the screeching of paint being peeled away. His insurance wasn't going to like this one bit. Still, he had a mission to complete and come Hades in high water, he was going to complete it. He continued to push the poor little sedan to its limits.

The little old lady shot him a dirty look, peering over her steering wheel as though the motion would give her chariot the extra power it needed for a second win. Rude's eyes honed in on the parking space, the little white pickup truck sputtering away without a care in the world.

It was now or never.

Putting everything he knew about piloting, driving, chocobo riding, physics, and that movie he watched years ago on the mating rituals of behemoths, he twisted the wheel sharply to the right and slammed on the brake. Tires screamed against the asphalt. The sedan skidded sideways. Immediately, he slammed on the gas, shooting forward and into the parking space.

The sedan ground to a halt, quivering, smoke drifting up from under the hood. Rude continued to grip the wheel, staring at the rearview mirror, disbelief that he'd actually managed to succeed in his mission. He resisted the urge to whoop in joy as he watched the station wagon creep to a halt and back up until it was directly behind him. The window slowly crept down.

Face red with fury, the little old lady tapped her cane against the back window of the sedan. "You rude little man! You're going to wish you'd have never tangled with the Galloping Granny! I'll get you for this! You'll never get away with what you did."

With that, she huffed and hunched her shoulders forward, driving away. Rude blinked and slowly exited his vehicle. Shrugging, he walked into the store.

**Thirty minutes later…**

He stared at the little white slip of paper firmly glued to his windshield. As his fingers curled around the parking ticket, he could almost hear the crazy old woman cackling, and suddenly, Rude was very, very afraid.

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

"**They call it a man cave…" **

**Until we meet again,**

**SageQuill : ) **


	92. Mission 92 Operation Cardboard Caper

**Well, that was an omega fail now wasn't it? Here I meant to get updates in quickly and low and behold, five to six whole MONTHS have passed. Sheesh. I really really wish I had a half-butt excuse for it, but I'm just gonna up and blame it on the facts of "a working muse is a busy muse," which, I promise you, is not a lie. Between my real life job, the fact that for some reason, I got roped into playing WoW of all things (long long story), raising baby animals on the homestead, and that writing/editing/revising/subbing/waiting/more revising/panic/fretting thing that we all refer to as Project ASitS (which is the original work, real non-fanfiction novel for those who don't know. Curious? Just ask and I'll explain there instead of here.) Yeah, I've been busy. **

**Fear not though. The loyalty of you wonderful fans has done wonders in the inspiration department of this and I have received not only some of the funniest ideas for missions I've seen in a long time, but also some wonderfully amusing personal PMs offering encouragement and support. **

**Also, we have now surpassed 500! YES, 500 reviews on this fic! Goodness. I never ever could have imagined it would reach this point! **

**You folks are AMAZING and I really do feel guilty about not getting these updates in sooner.**

**That said. Enjoy this fun mission folks as we continue our countdown to the final mission in this fic. **

**Mission Ninety Two – Operation Cardboard Caper**

It was watching him.

Sinister, button eyes, blacker than the coffee he was currently in the process of trying to pour into his coffee cup, followed his every move. They moved with him, judging him, seemingly drawing him to look at the pearled, dagger-like fangs opened in a deceptively "friendly" smile.

Its claws were dark, curled, kneading the air as if beckoning for him to step closer, just so it could rip out his soul and devour it. He shivered, trying to hide the motion from the four minions, minus their resident moping Vincent, who had once again locked himself in his office and refused to come out despite the numerous threats, orders, and even a rare bribe consisting of those little pink frosted chocolate cupcakes with the 10,000 calorie cake batter filling Reeve was using lately to bribe the judge and jury when their cases came up in court.

However, even though the world's greatest cupcakes couldn't lure him out of his lair it appeared that Vincent was the smart one today, when on the freak coincidence all of Tseng's minions had managed to assemble in the lounge at the exact same time.

Scratch that. There was no such thing as 'exact' in their department. What had _really_ happened was that Reno had wandered into the lounge to spike the coffee pot with a toad morphing potion. He hadn't counted on the fact that Cissnei and Elena were already there, arguing and rapidly approaching the often rumored, never actually _seen_ version of a Turk cat-fight over the newbie's critical mistake of rearranging the coffee and tea cups from one shelf to the other, which had resulted in the auburn-haired Turk's tea cup ending up on the highest shelf where she couldn't easily reach it.

Eager to actually see a legendary rumor actually possibly take place, Reno dove behind the ugly leather couch to wait it out, not counting on Rude already having taken up residence there with his laptop rapidly trying to reply to his loyal reviewers because it was the only semi-decent spot for wifi in the building since Rufus's pet panther cat thing had escaped earlier that week and knocked out the main company router.

The resulting cuss-fest of Rude being surprised and the laptop being sent flying had alerted the females to their presence and the legend-in-progress was not to be.

What was to be though was a severely under-caffeinated Tseng wandering in around that same moment and accidentally locking eyes with the awful beast that currently held him hostage, too afraid to pour the coffee and too disturbed to move out of the way.

His abrupt halt drew the attention of his underlings and within the minute, all were fixated by the horrible menace clinging to the wall.

"Whoa," Reno cautiously peered over the back of the couch. "What is that thing?"

Rude adjusted his sunglasses. "It appears to be a-"

"I know what it is!" Tseng snapped. "Just, someone, please, kill it."

"Sir?" Cissnei looked at him and had it not been for the fact that she was steadily making her own retreat from its gaze, she probably would have dared to smirk. "It's just a-"

"Kill it! Scan it! Do whatever you have to do! Just get it out of here right this second!"

The Turks exchanged looks at the terror it appeared to be causing their oh so fearless leader at the moment.

"But, sir. It's really not a threat…" Elena tried to explain before she was cut off by the Wutainese man's hostile glare.

"Yes it is." He turned his glare away from the newbie. "Cissnei, Libra. Now."

"Really?" She gave him a deadpan stare. "You really want me to Libra _that_?"

"Do it or I'll tell Zack that you're harboring a fainting goat as a pet."

"You truly are an evil, evil man."

"I knew you'd see it my way."

With a sigh, she fished the Libra from her pocket and looked at the object causing them all such grief.

"It's a calendar." She gave him her best annoyed look. "Contains cardboard, cardstock, ink, pictures of pink moogles and two cheap plastic staples. Retails for ten gil. Made in Junon. Special abilities include paper cuts, Mondays, organizing the future, making procrastinators wet themselves by randomly skipping weekends to summon Mondays. Are you happy now?"

"How do we kill it?"

She sighed. "Removing it from the wall is a good start."

Reno draped his elbows over the couch with a smirk. "One does not simply remove the calendar from the wall, Nei. You know that."

"Right," she rolled her eyes. "How could I forget we're that incompetent?"

"Now you're with the program!" Reno smirked. "Besides, wouldn't you only earn like ten experience points from it?"

"Hundredth of one point if that."

"Hundredth. Ouch. Why so low?"

"New multi-department printer." She gave him a bored look. "Laser model. Sort of power leveled trying to keep it from eating the infantrymen the other day."

"Nice." Even Rude looked impressed over the feat.

"This isn't solving the problem," Tseng resisted a glare.

"Sir, it is a calendar. Do what the rest of us do and just ignore it."

He continued to stare at the frilly evil looking pink moogle picture. "But it's looking right at us…Just, remove it please."

"Again," Reno warned. "We really can't…"

Tseng really did glare this time. His coffee cup clacked against the countertop and his eyebrow twitched. "Fine. I'll do it myself."

Both Reno and Cissnei exchanged looks, nodded once, and retreated to the far side of the room.

Rude shook his head and quickly followed, leaving Elena standing in confusion.

Tseng turned towards the menace, put on his bravest look and snatched the calendar, trying not to make direct eye contact.

"What are you doing!" shrieked a voice from the doorway making Tseng jump in horror.

The calendar landed with a rustling thud against the floor and he pressed his back to the wall, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

"Oh, good morning Director…" he frantically tried to come up with a good excuse. "I was just-"

Lazard scowled and began advancing forward, eyes on the calendar. "You didn't like it…"

"No, no, that's not it!" he traded a quick glare with the three Turks safely out of range. "I was just…" his eyes fell on Elena. "She did it."

"What!" the newbie just about shrieked in disbelief. "I didn't-"

"And you even have a confession." Tseng frantically stepped away from the fallen calendar. "Do what you will with her. I tried to stop her."

Elena's eyes were wide with horror. "Now wait a second. I didn't-"

Lazard had covered the distance quickly, seizing their newest Turk by the arm and shaking his head. "My dear. You have some learning to do about the proper value of feng shui in the workplace. Come with me. I'll teach you everything you need to know so this doesn't happen again!"

The others watched silently as Elena was nearly dragged past them and vanished into the hallway, but not before she threw one angry glare towards Tseng and them along the way.

In an instant she was gone.

"Wow, you are e-vile." Reno looked at Tseng.

"I did what I have to do. Now hang that calendar back up before he returns."

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**It's betting season here at Shinra, Inc…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill**


	93. Mission 93 Operation Hug A SOLDIER

**Oh dear. I really botched that update schedule for sure. Almost creeping up on a year just about since the last one (give or take a few months.) Yikes. I really didn't forget about the fic, honestly, I didn't. And no, I didn't lose interest in it. It's just one of those things that got caught somewhere between work, real life novel stuff, and well, let's just chalk it up to fuzzy red moombas chowing down on my writing schedule calendar and call it even, if that's an acceptable explanation. Seriously though, I feel awful about not getting anything for this fic updated in that amount of time. I'm really wanting to get his fic completed this year in time for its 5 year anniversary. Yeah, it's been that long almost. To all who have stuck with it that long, you have no idea how grateful I am for that. Hopefully this will be the year that we finally get to that 100****th**** mission. I will try better than I ever have to get those updated and to finish both this fic and the other fic. That said, enjoy this fun mission folks which is brought to you today by a delightful reader request. **

**So ****Jeneshisu, I do apologize for the lengthy wait, here is your requested mission, complete with ulterior motives and all. Hopefully it lives up to standards. : ) **

**Mission Ninety Three – Operation Hug A SOLDIER**

It began like all good plagues do, by helping a simple infantryman cheat on a basic math test.

The auburn-haired female Turk really had a tough time calling it cheating honestly but as she rolled over in bed and swatted the buzzing alarm clock from its stand beside her bed, she made a silent vow that cheating or not, the little blonde-haired delinquent she'd been blackmailed into tutoring was going to have to actually learn how to think his way through anything that had to do with moombas, moogles, and the large, somewhat frightening amount of illegal produce trading going down in Mathematics 101.

She wasn't quite sure if he'd be able to manage that one or not, but she knew one thing was for sure, she was an hour late for work and not only did she feel like those fruit-trading moombas had run her over repeatedly with a chocobo cart, she was fairly sure that the looks she was getting from her survivalist-level guinea pig, that somewhat fugitive fainting goat she was harboring, and her resident 'house husband' told her all she needed to really know—she was going to have to use one of her coveted sick days.

Gaia have mercy on their souls.

**Turk Lounge. 7:30 am**

Reno Sinclair paced frantically around the lounge, scheming. Their rookie was still being held hostage by an overly flamboyant Director of SOLDIER. It wasn't that he actually _cared_ so much for Elena's wellbeing. After all, the rookie was probably enjoying herself getting in touch with her feminine side while learning the finer arts of office feng sui when it came to which post-its to keep on what part of the desk and what color tie would bring out her best look.

It was that they had no scapegoat and, Gaia forbid, any trouble they created while their usual auburn-haired associate was out sick would fall strictly on them. And if it fell to them, they could be held responsible since said associate wasn't around to create alibis and bail them out of trouble.

They had a crisis on their hands. And if they didn't fix it soon, they'd almost have to, dare they even think about it, _work_.

"You are overreacting way too much over this," Rude casually flipped through the morning paper and sipped his orange juice like it was no big deal.

"But, but," the red head slammed both hands down on the coffee table. "Accountability, Rude! We can be held accountable for our actions now!"

"Yeah, so what." He flipped to the sports section to see how his bets at the chocobo race were paying off.

"This can't happen." Reno scowled. "If we're held accountable for our actions, people will expect more of us. They'll start sending us on missions. Make us file paperwork. Actually start respecting us! And then we'll have to actually do things and complete missions and before you know it this fic turns into one of those serious soap opera ones where people applaud our overdramatic successes and start pairing us with the most ridiculous of shippings!"

Rude blinked.

"We can't let this happen," Reno began pacing again. "We need a plan. We need a plan so epic they'll be talking about it for fics yet to be written. We need…" he turned upon the bald man and tore the newspaper from his hands. "Biological warfare!"

Rude arched an eyebrow. "You bought whisky from that shady guy on the corner again, didn't you."

"Nope, I drank from the drinking fountain today." Reno looked over the crumbled newspaper. "But this plan is fail proof. The rookie needs rescued and 'Nei's out with the plague. So, to get our scapegoat back all we need to do is infect SOLDIER with said plague and then we're back in business again!"

The bald man sighed and watched his newspaper land in the trash bin. Fuzzy Little Socks, the unfortunate animal he'd picked because of its odds had finished last in every race it was in, so from the looks of things, it was either help Reno possibly destroy the world, or actually try to get some work done. Either way the rent was due.

"So exactly how do you plan to infect them with the plague?"

Reno grinned. "Watch and learn, big guy. Watch and learn."

**Tseng's Office: 7:45am**

He looked up from his suduko puzzle just in time to watch an overly enthusiastic Reno go trotting by the door, that look about him that promised that before the end of the day, there would be actual paperwork to do, lawsuits to settle, and black market pastries to be doled out to the appropriate authorities.

His fingers gently seized a still black piece of hair and gingerly tagged it with a small strip of white tape just as Reeve rounded the corner with a new stack of files in hand.

"Good goddess man, what are you doing now?"

Tseng sighed. "Taking bets on how fast it takes for this hair to turn gray. I have one Turk out sick, one still refusing to come out of his office, one being held hostage by Lazard, and two idiots trying to mount a rescue mission just so they don't have to put one piece of paper into an envelope and let it in the little mail basket on said sick Turk's desk."

Reeve gently set the files on the desk and offered up a sympathetic look. "50 gil on three hours with a 20 gil hedge bet that by the end of the day you'll be drinking pity coffee while huddled under your desk wondering when the next transport to the frozen Modeoheim tundra is so you can live out your life in some cave somewhere like a crazy chocobo sage."

Tseng tried to hold back a glare. "That's supposed to be personal."

"To be fair, you grumble outside my office every afternoon at 2. You want me to book the tickets now? Or are we waiting for the hair to turn fully gray?"

The leader of the Turks looked down at his puzzle. "Usual seat, same class, you know the drill."

**Cissnei's apartment 8:15 am**

Through some great effort, she'd managed to pry herself out of bed long enough to stumble out into the living room where much to her surprise, the resident house husband was in the process of making a pot of chicken noodle soup while, through some form of amazement, balancing the robotic "mommy and me" class baby on his hip, looking way to happy about the situation for her liking.

It really didn't help either that the goat had taken up residence on the couch while the guinea pig was helping it flip through channels on the television. She froze. She and Vincent had one of those classes tonight. And since he hadn't yet come out of his office to help with matters any, she was going to likely have to go to work anyway and physically drag him to the classes in all of his crying, weeping glory.

Trying so hard not to cuss in the presence of the robotic demon child thing, she crept over to the kitchen for the one thing she knew would make life semi-better, a cup of tea.

"You look worried about something," Biggs said, half amused at the glare he received in response. "A day off can't be _that_ bad now can it?"

She sipped the tea. "You've never seen the creative ingenuity of people trying to avoid doing the simplest tasks in the world, have you?"

"I cut through a red light once."

"If there wasn't a crazy matchmaker living in that alleyway, I'd tell you it's a good time to run to the nearest country and not look back, but…" She patted him on the shoulder and shook her head, trying not to show amusement. "Yeah, I'm just that nice when I'm not feeling great."

A loud, obnoxious pounding on the door almost sent the teacup flying as the goat promptly fainted and landed on the floor with a twitchy thud. Sir Squeaks-a-lot went scurrying onto the back of the couch, squealing and chattering like a little guard dog.

The auburn-haired Turk clutched the teacup in horror and looked at the man in the kitchen and then back to the door. Only one idiot would dare to track her down in her own home and said idiot would never ever exceed the amount of blackmail material if he walked in on a circus such as this.

She offered a panicked look to the man and robotic infant.

The door pounded louder and she could've sworn she heard the click of a lock pick being engaged. This wasn't good. Not good at all.

She pointed to the pantry. "Just, stay out of sight and be quiet."

"You know you get an awful lot of visitors for someone who lives alone…"

She glared. "I could let them find you and you too could join the elite ranks of shame and humiliation that we're more than capable of tailoring specifically to you."

He raised an eyebrow and quietly crept to the pantry.

"I thought so."

Once she was sure the humiliating misunderstanding of a situation was under control, she hurried to the door, taking extra care to step over the fainting goat sprawled out on the floor, only to have said door fly open in the closest thing to a domestic tornado that could destroy her apartment.

"Oh good," Reno rushed over to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. "You're still alive and sick with the plague."

She blinked and tried to keep the teacup from spilling.

"So, what do we have? Goat pox? Guinea pig flu? Come on, I need something to work with here!"

"Um, why are you in my apartment?"

"Come on, 'Nei. I need goat pox here!"

She barely caught Rude trying so hard not to do a face palm at Reno's desperation.

"I have a cold."

"A cold? A cold?" His eyes lit up. "Are you sure it's not the moogle mumps? Or the chocobo cough?"

"I'm pretty sure it's a cold. Normal, boring, run of the mill cold."

Reno gave a quick glance at Rude. "Close enough. We'll go with goat pox just to be safe."

And then he did something that surprised everyone within viewing range—he hugged her.

She scowled. "What in the—"

"Thanks, 'Nei! Hopefully I'm infected enough for this to work. By the way, anyone asks, this never took place, got that?"

And she watched, dumbfounded as the red-haired troublemaker strode off to wherever he was going. Rude offered up a sheepish 'I'll explain and make this up to you somehow later' smile before hurrying after the troublemaker.

**Shinra Headquarters, 9:00 am**

"Did you really have to hug me too?" Rude scowled and slammed the car door shut.

Reno smirked. "Of course! The more, the merrier you know."

"She's going to turn you into an imp when she feels better."

"Yeah, but hey, I mean, we can't just have her have all the fun."

Rude sighed. "No, of course not. So, exactly what are we doing again?"

Reno pulled out a notebook. "Rescuing Elena. Now, you take these people and I'll take these two."

The bald Turk glanced down at the small sheet of paper in hand. "You're not serious."

"Oh I totally am. Now, hurry up. Your target usually heads for first lunch around this time of the morning."

**Shinra Cafeteria…9:15 am**

The bald man sat by the vending machines, cursing his luck and wondering just how much bribery money it would cost him to be transferred to another department where no one would ever have to read about this.

He watched through his sunglasses as the black-haired SOLDIER casually walked over to the sandwich machine like he did every morning around this time. It wasn't lunch per se, but he was a SOLDIER and SOLDIER eating habits accounted for roughly sixty five percent of all Shinra revenue, so it was a safe bet that he would find his target here.

Trying his best to look professional about this and reminding himself that yes, it was a viable solution to getting Elena back as early as they possibly could, he stood up and walked over to the black-haired SOLDIER who was quietly talking to himself, or more correctly, muttering about a certain black-haired 'puppy.'

"Problem pets?" Rude tried to fight back the awkwardness of Reno's plan.

Angeal nodded. "Damn puppy somehow got himself tangled in a janitor's cart while spying on a blonde-haired infantryman. You ever try to chase one of those people? It's like scooter day in gym class without anyone being on their meds!"

Rude raised an eyebrow.

"And to make matters worse, he goes and eats all of Genesis's dumbapple dumpling cookies. I need to find a way to housetrain him or something. You're a Turk. How do you guys manage to keep everyone in such spectacular fail-worthy form?"

The bald Turk silently cursed his red-haired companion at being thrown into a therapy session with a SOLDIER of all people. Gaia forgive him for this.

"Like this." Rude quickly embraced the SOLDIER in a hug.

Both men stared at each other for several seconds and the bald one let go, trying his hardest not to look embarrassed and silently planning just how he was going to get back at Reno over this humiliating experience.

"That's actually extremely brilliant." Angeal blinked, appearing to actually ponder the thought. "Not too overbearing and yet, everyone needs a hug every so often. Yes, that might actually work. And it's noble in a way, if not honorable for a man to show a soft, comforting side so I think I'll give that a try."

Rude cringed and slowly backed away, leaving the quieter SOLDIER pondering the actions and just how to use them to his advantage and silently praying that he wouldn't have to hug anyone else today to infect them with "goat pox" as Reno was now calling the common cold.

And then he saw the next name on his list…

**Shinra Library, 10:00 am**

Reno tried not to hum his own theme music as he looked over the top of a random book. It was upside down, but he didn't care. He wasn't in this miserable learning place to actually read a book. No, that would have undermined his intelligence. He was here for a different reason.

And that reason was sitting right across the table from him, LOVELESS propped open and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

This would be easy, the red-haired Turk though as he stood up, still looking over the book in hand and carefully creeping around the table.

Genesis looked up with a bored look. "Go away."

Reno stopped, green eyes glaring at the stern whisper.

"Go away." The ginger-haired SOLDIER scowled with yet another whisper. "Shoo, be gone. The eternal gift of the goddess cannot be fully enjoyed with you standing there ogling my big books."

"Oh I'm ogling them," Reno smirked.

Genesis glared. "Shhh. Be quiet."

"Is the font always that tiny, or is it just a special book?"

The SOLDIER's eyes narrowed and he pretended to ignore the Turk. "The goddess does not approve of you criticizing her fonts."

Reno leaned forward and snatched the book from the SOLDIER's hands, holding it up and pretending to examine it. "Where's the pictures, or the little pop up pages?"

Genesis grit his teeth and resisted the urge to Firaga the entire building.

The Turk grinned. "And what's with all the mismatched punctuation? It's like contraband for the grammar police in here, or a comma party. But don't tell the semi-colons because apparently they weren't invited."

The SOLDIER stood up and planted both hands on the table with a murderous glare. "Do not mock the language of the Ancients who wrote this."

"Spell-check would have done wonders."

He had just enough time to dodge the irate SOLDIER as he pounced across the table, teeth bared and hands grapping for the book with a primal, enraged, furious combination of swear-cuss-spells.

**Shinra Community Break Room, 11:00 am**

Rude drew a long breath and stepped off the elevator, looking both ways to make sure no one else was in the area to see this. After all, the next person on the list to infect wasn't exactly the kind of person people just walked up to and hugged.

The thought terrified him and he wasn't exactly just why he couldn't have just walked up to Lazard's office and put in a casual plea for Elena's safe return to their department. Or had Cissnei write the appropriate letter of apology on that pretty lavender paper the Director seemed fond of. Anything would be better than the very public stalking situation he was embarking on as he rounded the corner and walked into the community break room where his next target sat.

Sephiroth lounged on the couch, both boots up on a table, a hair-care magazine open in his hands as he appeared to be carefully considering some very deep options on what colors were in this time of year and what the best conditioner for his hair would need to be changed to, to ensure that he kept that silvery lush look. You know, for the fandom of course.

Rude stepped into the break room, thankful that no one else seemed to be here except the SOLDIER and began to wonder just how he was going to manage this one with his dignity still intact.

"Do I want Costa Coconut or Mideelian Mango." Sephiroth didn't even look up at the surprised Turk. "I'd ask you, bald one, but I think the question might be a bit irrelevant for you."

Rude frowned.

"I think I'll just call it even and go with Bone Village Bamboo. Either way they really do promise to keep the hair soft, shimmering, and complete with that fully silken feel the fangirls love so much."

The SOLDIER folded the magazine shut and sat up, offering a smirk. "So, since you're here, I'm safely assuming you're in some sort of betting pool that will no doubt humiliate your team while we SOLDIERs once again look like good because it's not our faults. Let's cut to the chase here. I'll let you go whatever it is you came here to do, one the condition that you'll do something for me."

The bald Turk sighed. "What do you want?"

Sephiroth strode over to him and flipped his hair while circling the Turk. "It appears someone has been stealing my fan fiction readers during the week between my own updates. And thanks to a little creative sleuthing, that someone appears to be you. I've read it, you're good, but you're not as good as me and I'm willing to cut a deal with you. Half your fans and you can do whatever and I won't say a thing to my publicist or the tabloids."

"Fine. You can have them." He grit his teeth. Reno was going to pay for this one indeed and he couldn't help but wonder if that old lady he'd taken the parking space from's curse was actually legit now.

The silver-haired general smirked. "Good. Also, one other thing. The betting pool. I want a cut."

"You're evil."

"You have no idea. After all, what's fair is fair and I have to pay off the appropriate bribery to keep those photographs of the SOLDIER beach vacation off of both Shinbook and Shinterest."

"Fine. Now will you just let me hug you already so I can go take the walk of shame back to our floor and pretend this didn't happen already?"

Sephiroth snickered and quickly hugged the bald Turk. "You fail to realize just how awesome my fan base tends to be about this sort of thing. Remember, fifty percent of the winnings."

**Shinra SOLDIER Floor, 11:30 am**

Elena sat across from the Director of SOLDIER, listening intently as Lazard overdramatically continued his lecture on the proper etiquette of office feng sui. She had to admit, there was a lot of things she hadn't known about post-it notes, or that the angle of the chair and arrangement of flowers on the desk could really cause problems in the workplace.

She also hadn't known that her tie was the wrong shade of burgundy and that her coworkers were committing every fashion sin imaginable by the Director's books.

It was a real eye-opening experience.

And in all honesty, she wanted to be rescued and wasn't at all annoyed when Rude and Sephiroth walked into the office, the latter looking like he just wanted to call it a day and go home.

"Oh my, what brings you here?" Lazard looked up.

"Look," Rude said, trying to be as polite as possible. "We need our Turk back and since I have no idea where Reno is right now, or two of your SOLDIERS, I thought I'd just ask."

Lazard shook his head and frowned. "But there is still so much to learn! Look at the lines in this notebook! They're not the proper shades of blue for success in the work place!"

Elena offered the bald Turk a look that pleaded to be rescued from such horror.

The bald Turk opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the weary footsteps of a rather agitated leader of the Turks walking into the office.

"Director, it appears there was a misunderstanding and I really need my Turks back in my office right now," Tseng scowled, admitting defeat based on the brief text message Cissnei had sent him regarding Rude and Reno's actions. "I know it's short notice and you haven't gotten to the power of positive thinking through pencil holders yet, but I'm more than willing to allow you to take me tie shopping if you'll please just give me back my Turks."

Lazard's eyes lit up and he clapped both hands together. "Oh that's marvelous! I know just the color that will suit you to bring out your eyes! When do you have free?" He grabbed his notebook eagerly.

Tseng shivered and tried to find any day that just would never work.

A loud crash, followed by a flurry of yells flooded the room as the door fell open and Reno and Genesis tumbled into the room, grappling for the LOVELESS book, the Turk holding it just out of reach. Both crashed into the ornate coffee table, rolled against the couch and got to their feet, Firaga spells flying every which way while an overly excitable Zack Fair followed whooping and hollering with Angeal in pursuit.

"How dare you claim I'm pronouncing it wrong!" Genesis yelled as a Firaga spell lit up the room.

"Just saying yo, you need to pronounce it the right way! That's not a vowel, you'll offence the rest of the letters."

Tseng exchanged a look with the others as Reno tossed the book to the side and grabbed Genesis, embracing him in a very awkward hug with a grin.

Lazard blinked. Silence fell over the room.

Genesis's eyes widened in horror and he struggled to break away, sending a pleading look to the other SOLDIERs and Turks in the room for help.

The Director looked over at Tseng, a smile crossing his face. "Oh, how wonderful! A team building exercise on how a simple act of gentle compassion can be used to enhance teamwork in the workplace! Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"But, I didn't…No, wait!" Tseng flinched as the director hugged him and shot a murderous look towards his two underlings. Reeve was going to have a field day with this one.

"Absolutely wonderful that we're starting to work on our differences," Lazard beamed and let go long enough to retrieve his notebook. "We'll schedule a picnic to celebrate our newfound teamwork. Isn't this exciting!"

Tseng's eyes widened in horror.

Lazard began jotting down dates. "This is going to be so much. I've always said our departments should set aside our petty differences and get along. So why not a picnic? Everyone loves a good picnic."

Tseng pretended to nod. "How about we go work on some scheduling on our end while you make arrangements and then your people call my people and this all works out?"

He nodded. "That will be excellent."

"Good." He offered his Turks a withering glare and motioned for them to follow him back to their half of the building, but didn't get even more than halfway down the hallway before he felt a tickle in his nose as if catching a cold.

**Coming up on One Hundred Tiny Missions: **

**With the entire building down with "goat pox" the world needs a leader…**

**Until we meet again, **

**SageQuill **


End file.
